Read Online Just William by Richmal Crompton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richmal Crompton
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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’ for 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 rosebed, 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 he did so. He was determined to have that syringa. He took it dripping from the vase, and was preparing to depart,
when the door opened and a fat woman appeared upon the threshold. The scream that she emitted at sight of William curdled the very blood in his veins. She dashed to the window, and William, in
self-defence, dodged round the table and out of the door. The back door was open, and William blindly fled by it. The fat woman did not pursue. She was leaning out of the window, and her shrieks
rent the air.
‘Police! Help! Murder! Robbers!’
The quiet little street rang with the raucous sounds.
William felt cold shivers creeping up and down his spine. He was in a small back garden from which he could see no exit.
THE DOOR OPENED AND A FAT WOMAN APPEARED ON THE THRESHOLD.
Meanwhile the shrieks were redoubled.
‘Help! Help! Help! ’
Then came sounds of the front door opening and men’s voices.
‘Hello! Who is it? What is it?’
William glared round wildly. There was a hen house in the corner of the garden, and into this he dashed, tearing open the door and plunging through a mass of flying feathers and angry, disturbed
hens.
William crouched in a corner of the dark hen house determinedly clutching his bunch of syringa.
Distant voices were at first all he
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’ for 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 rosebed, 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 he did so. He was determined to have that syringa. He took it dripping from the vase, and was preparing to depart,
when the door opened and a fat woman appeared upon the threshold. The scream that she emitted at sight of William curdled the very blood in his veins. She dashed to the window, and William, in
self-defence, dodged round the table and out of the door. The back door was open, and William blindly fled by it. The fat woman did not pursue. She was leaning out of the window, and her shrieks
rent the air.
‘Police! Help! Murder! Robbers!’
The quiet little street rang with the raucous sounds.
William felt cold shivers creeping up and down his spine. He was in a small back garden from which he could see no exit.
THE DOOR OPENED AND A FAT WOMAN APPEARED ON THE THRESHOLD.
Meanwhile the shrieks were redoubled.
‘Help! Help! Help! ’
Then came sounds of the front door opening and men’s voices.
‘Hello! Who is it? What is it?’
William glared round wildly. There was a hen house in the corner of the garden, and into this he dashed, tearing open the door and plunging through a mass of flying feathers and angry, disturbed
hens.
William crouched in a corner of the dark hen house determinedly clutching his bunch of syringa.
Distant voices were at first all he
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