of it and wanted to make himself
a little disagreeable. If so, he was doomed to disappointment. For
everyone else clapped hands and called out, 'That's the very thing!'
Then the girls went off to write out the rules, and took H. O. with
them, and Noel went to write some poetry to put in the minute book.
That's what you call the book that a society's secretary writes what it
does in. Denny went with him to help. He knows a lot of poetry. I think
he went to a lady's school where they taught nothing but that. He was
rather shy of us, but he took to Noel. I can't think why. Dicky and
Oswald walked round the garden and told each other what they thought of
the new society.

'I'm not sure we oughtn't to have put our foot down at the beginning,'
Dicky said. 'I don't see much in it, anyhow.'

'It pleases the girls,' Oswald said, for he is a kind brother.

'But we're not going to stand jaw, and "words in season", and "loving
sisterly warnings". I tell you what it is, Oswald, we'll have to run
this thing our way, or it'll be jolly beastly for everybody.'

Oswald saw this plainly.

'We must do something,' Dicky said; it's very very hard, though. Still,
there must be SOME interesting things that are not wrong.'

'I suppose so,' Oswald said, 'but being good is so much like being a
muff, generally. Anyhow I'm not going to smooth the pillows of the sick,
or read to the aged poor, or any rot out of Ministering Children.'

'No more am I,' Dicky said. He was chewing a straw like the head had
in its mouth, 'but I suppose we must play the game fair. Let's begin by
looking out for something useful to do--something like mending things or
cleaning them, not just showing off.'

'The boys in books chop kindling wood and save their pennies to buy tea
and tracts.'

'Little beasts!' said Dick. 'I say, let's talk about something
else.' And Oswald was glad to, for he was beginning to feel jolly
uncomfortable.

We were all rather quiet at tea, and afterwards Oswald played draughts
with Daisy and the others yawned. I don't know when we've had such a
gloomy evening. And everyone was horribly polite, and said 'Please' and
'Thank you' far more than requisite.

Albert's uncle came home after tea. He was jolly, and told us stories,
but he noticed us being a little dull, and asked what blight had fallen
on our young lives. Oswald could have answered and said, 'It is the
Society of the Wouldbegoods that is the blight,' but of course he didn't
an