can climb up that an' slide down the coal inside. That's what I can
do. There's _nothin'_ I can't do. I----"

"All right," urged Cuthbert, "if you can do that, do it, and I'll
believe you can do anything."

For Cuthbert, with unholy glee, foresaw William's undoing.

"Oh, William," pleaded Joan, "_I know_ you're brave, but don't----"

But William was already doing it. They saw his disappearance into the
little window, they heard plainly his descent down the coal heap
inside, and in less than a minute he appeared in the doorway. He was
almost unrecognisable. Coal dust adhered freely to the moist
consistency of the mud and lichen already clinging to his suit, as
well as to his hair and face. His collar had been almost torn away
from its stud. William himself was smiling proudly, utterly
unconscious of his appearance. Joan was plainly wavering between
horror and admiration. Then the moment for which Cuthbert had longed
arrived.

"Children! come in now!"

Cuthbert, clean and dainty, entered the drawing-room first and pointed
an accusing finger at the strange figure which followed.

"He'th been climbing treeth an' crawling in the mud, an' rolling down
the coalth. He'th a nathty rough boy."

A wild babel arose as William entered.

"_William!_"

"You _dreadful_ boy!"

"Joan, come right away from him. Come over here."

"What _will_ your father say?"

"William, my _carpet_!"

For the greater part of the stream's bed still clung to William's
boots.

Doggedly William defended himself.

"I was showin' 'em how to do things. I was bein' a host. I was tryin'
to make 'em _happy_! I----"

"William, don't stand there talking. Go straight upstairs to the
bathroom."

It was the end of the first battle, and undoubtedly William had lost.
Yet William had caught sight of the smile on Cuthbert's face and
William had decided that that smile was something to be avenged.

But fate did not favour him. Indeed, fate seemed to do the reverse.

The idea of a children's play did not emanate from William's mother,
or Joan's. They were both free from guilt in that respect. It emanated
from Mrs. de Vere Carter. Mrs. de Vere Carter was a neighbour with a
genius for organisation. There were few things she did not organise
till their every other aspect or aim was lost but that of
"organisation." She also had what amounted practically to a disease
for "getting up" things. She "got up" plays, and bazaars, and
pageants, and concerts. T