Just William - Richmal Crompton (have you read this book .TXT) 📗

soothingly, “now that he’s beginning to take such an interest.”

“A room!” echoed his father bitterly. “He wants a whole house.”

Miss Drew was surprised and touched by William’s earnestness and attention the next day. At the end of the afternoon school he kindly offered to carry her books home for her. He waved aside all protests. He marched home by her side discoursing pleasantly, his small freckled face beaming devotion.

“I like pirates, don’t you, Miss Drew? An’ robbers an’ things like that? Miss Drew, would you like to be married to a robber?”

He was trying to reconcile his old beloved dream of his future estate with the new one of becoming Miss Drew’s husband.

“No,” she said firmly.

His heart sank.

“Nor a pirate?” he said sadly.

“No.”

“They’re quite nice really⁠—pirates,” he assured her.

“I think not.”

“Well,” he said resignedly, “we’ll jus’ have to go huntin’ wild animals and things. That’ll be all right.”

“Who?” she said, bewildered.

“Well⁠—jus’ you wait,” he said darkly.

Then: “Would you rather be married by the Archbishop of York or the Pope?”

“The Archbishop, I think,” she said gravely.

He nodded.

“All right.”

She was distinctly amused. She was less amused the next evening. Miss Drew had a male cousin⁠—a very nice-looking male cousin, with whom she often went for walks in the evening. This evening, by chance, they passed William’s house, and William, who was in the garden, threw aside his temporary role of pirate and joined them. He trotted happily on the other side of Miss Drew. He entirely monopolised the conversation. The male cousin seemed to encourage him, and this annoyed Miss Drew. He refused to depart in spite of Miss Drew’s strong hints. He had various items of interest to impart, and he imparted them with the air of one assured of an appreciative hearing. He had found a dead rat the day before and given it to his dog, but his dog didn’t like ’em dead and neither did the ole cat, so he’d buried it. Did Miss Drew like all those flowers he’d got her the other day? He was afraid that he cudn’t bring any more like that jus’ yet. Were there pirates now? Well, what would folks do to one if there was one? He din’t see why there shun’t be pirates now. He thought he’d start it, anyway. He’d like to shoot a lion. He was goin’ to one day. He’d shoot a lion an’ a tiger. He’d bring the skin home to Miss Drew, if she liked. He grew recklessly generous. He’d bring home lots of skins of all sorts of animals for Miss Drew.

“Don’t you think you ought to be going home, William?” said Miss Drew coldly.

William hastened to reassure her.

“Oh, no⁠—not for ever so long yet,” he said.

“Isn’t it your bedtime?”

“Oh, no⁠—not yet⁠—not for ever so long.”

The male cousin was giving William his whole attention.

“What does Miss Drew teach you at school, William?” he said.

“Oh, jus’ ornery things. Armadas an’ things. An’ ’bout lending a hundred pounds. That’s a norful soft thing. I unnerstand it,” he added hastily, fearing further explanation, “but it’s soft. My father thinks it is, too, an’ he oughter know. He’s bin abroad lots of times. He’s bin chased by a bull, my father has⁠—”

The shades of night were falling fast when William reached Miss Drew’s house still discoursing volubly. He was drunk with success. He interpreted his idol’s silence as the silence of rapt admiration.

He was passing through the gate with his two companions with the air of one assured of welcome, when Miss Drew shut the gate upon him firmly.

“You’d better go home now, William,” she said.

William hesitated.

“I don’t mind comin’ in a bit,” he said. “I’m not tired.”

But Miss Drew and the male cousin were already halfway up the walk.

William turned his steps homeward. He met Ethel near the gate.

“William, where have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere. It’s hours past your bedtime.”

“I was goin’ a walk with Miss Drew.”

“But you should have come home at your bedtime.”

“I don’t think she wanted me to go,” he said with dignity. “I think it wun’t of bin p’lite.”

William found that a new and serious element had entered his life. It was not without its disadvantages. Many had been the little diversions by which William had been wont to while away the hours of instruction. In spite of his devotion to Miss Drew, he missed the old days of carefree exuberance, but he kept his new seat in the front row, and clung to his role of earnest student. He was beginning to find also, that a conscientious performance of home lessons limited his activities after school hours, but at present he hugged his chains. Miss Drew, from her seat on the platform, found William’s soulful concentrated gaze somewhat embarrassing, and his questions even more so.

As he went out of school he heard her talking to another mistress.

“I’m very fond of syringa,” she was saying. “I’d love to have some.”

William decided to bring her syringa, handfuls of syringa, armfuls of syringa.

He went straight home to the gardener.

“No, I ain’t got no syringa. Please step off my rose-bed, Mister William. No, there ain’t any syringa in this ’ere garding. I dunno for why. Please leave my ’ose pipe alone, Mister William.”

“Huh!” ejaculated William, scornfully turning away.

He went round the garden. The gardener had been quite right. There were guelder roses everywhere, but no syringa.

He climbed the fence and surveyed the next garden. There were guelder roses everywhere, but no syringa. It must have been some peculiarity in the soil.

William strolled down the road, scanning the gardens as he went. All had guelder roses. None had syringa.

Suddenly he stopped.

On a table in the window of a small house at the bottom of the road was a vase of syringa. He did not know who lived there. He entered the garden cautiously. No one was about.

He looked into the room. It was empty. The window was open at the bottom.

He scrambled in, removing several layers of white paint from the windowsill as