RESTRICTED SPACE.
William had managed the somersault, but it had somehow brought his feet into collision with Uncle George’s neck. Uncle George sleepily shifted his position.
‘Boisterous! Boisterous!’ he murmured disapprovingly. ‘You should combine the gentleness of a Moore with the courage of a Wellington, William.’
William now perceived that Uncle George’s eyelids were drooping slowly and William’s sudden statuesque calm would have surprised many of his instructors.
The silence and the warmth of the room had their effect. In less than three minutes Uncle George was dead to the world around him.
William’s form relaxed, then he crept up to look closely at the face of his enemy. He decided that he disliked it intensely. Something must be done at once. He looked round the room. There
were not many weapons handy. Only his mother’s workbox stood on a chair by the window, and on it a pile of socks belonging to Robert, William’s elder brother. Beneath either arm of his
chair one of Uncle George’s coat-tails protruded. William soon departed on his way rejoicing, while on to one of Uncle George’s coat-tails was firmly stitched a bright blue sock and on
to the other a brilliant orange one. Robert’s taste in socks was decidedly loud. William felt almost happy. The rain had stopped and he spent the morning with some of his friends whom he met
in the road. They went bearhunting in the wood; and though no bears were found, still their disappointment was considerably allayed by the fact that one of them saw a mouse and another one
distinctly smelt a rabbit. William returned to lunch whistling to himself and had the intense satisfaction of seeing Uncle George enter the dining-room, obviously roused from his slumbers by the
luncheon bell, and obviously quite unaware of the blue and orange socks that still adorned his person.
‘Curious!’ he ejaculated, as Ethel, William’s grown-up sister, pointed out the blue sock to him. ‘Most curious!’
William departed discreetly, muttering something about ‘better tidy up a bit’, which drew from his sister expressions of surprise and solicitous questions as to his state of
health.
‘Most curious!’ said Uncle George again, who had now discovered the orange sock.
When William returned, all excitement was over and Uncle George was consuming roast beef with energy.
‘Ah, William,’ he said, ‘we must complete the History lesson soon. Nothing like History. Nothing like History. Nothing like History. Teaches us to endure the buffets of fate
with equanimity and to smile at misfortune. Then we must do some Geography.’ William groaned. ‘Most fascinating study. Rivers, mountains, cities, etc. Most improving. The morning should
be devoted to intellectual work at your age, William, and the afternoon to the quiet pursuit of – some improving hobby. You would then find the true joy of life.’
To judge from William’s countenance he did not wholly agree, but he made no objection. He had learnt that objection was useless, and against Uncle George’s eloquence silence was his
only weapon.
After lunch Uncle George followed his usual custom and retired to rest. William went to the shed in the back garden and continued the erection of a rabbit hutch that he had begun a few days
before. He hoped that if he made a hutch, Providence would supply a rabbit. He whistled blithely as he knocked nails in at random.
‘William, you mustn’t do that now’
He turned a stern gaze upon his mother.
‘Why not?’ he said.
‘Uncle George is resting.’
With a crushing glance at her he strolled away from the shed. Someone had left the lawn mower in the middle of the lawn. With one of his rare impulses of pure virtue he determined to be useful.
Also, he rather liked mowing the grass.
‘William, don’t do that now,’ called his sister from the window. ‘Uncle George is resting.’
He deliberately drove the mowing machine into the middle of the garden bed
William had managed the somersault, but it had somehow brought his feet into collision with Uncle George’s neck. Uncle George sleepily shifted his position.
‘Boisterous! Boisterous!’ he murmured disapprovingly. ‘You should combine the gentleness of a Moore with the courage of a Wellington, William.’
William now perceived that Uncle George’s eyelids were drooping slowly and William’s sudden statuesque calm would have surprised many of his instructors.
The silence and the warmth of the room had their effect. In less than three minutes Uncle George was dead to the world around him.
William’s form relaxed, then he crept up to look closely at the face of his enemy. He decided that he disliked it intensely. Something must be done at once. He looked round the room. There
were not many weapons handy. Only his mother’s workbox stood on a chair by the window, and on it a pile of socks belonging to Robert, William’s elder brother. Beneath either arm of his
chair one of Uncle George’s coat-tails protruded. William soon departed on his way rejoicing, while on to one of Uncle George’s coat-tails was firmly stitched a bright blue sock and on
to the other a brilliant orange one. Robert’s taste in socks was decidedly loud. William felt almost happy. The rain had stopped and he spent the morning with some of his friends whom he met
in the road. They went bearhunting in the wood; and though no bears were found, still their disappointment was considerably allayed by the fact that one of them saw a mouse and another one
distinctly smelt a rabbit. William returned to lunch whistling to himself and had the intense satisfaction of seeing Uncle George enter the dining-room, obviously roused from his slumbers by the
luncheon bell, and obviously quite unaware of the blue and orange socks that still adorned his person.
‘Curious!’ he ejaculated, as Ethel, William’s grown-up sister, pointed out the blue sock to him. ‘Most curious!’
William departed discreetly, muttering something about ‘better tidy up a bit’, which drew from his sister expressions of surprise and solicitous questions as to his state of
health.
‘Most curious!’ said Uncle George again, who had now discovered the orange sock.
When William returned, all excitement was over and Uncle George was consuming roast beef with energy.
‘Ah, William,’ he said, ‘we must complete the History lesson soon. Nothing like History. Nothing like History. Nothing like History. Teaches us to endure the buffets of fate
with equanimity and to smile at misfortune. Then we must do some Geography.’ William groaned. ‘Most fascinating study. Rivers, mountains, cities, etc. Most improving. The morning should
be devoted to intellectual work at your age, William, and the afternoon to the quiet pursuit of – some improving hobby. You would then find the true joy of life.’
To judge from William’s countenance he did not wholly agree, but he made no objection. He had learnt that objection was useless, and against Uncle George’s eloquence silence was his
only weapon.
After lunch Uncle George followed his usual custom and retired to rest. William went to the shed in the back garden and continued the erection of a rabbit hutch that he had begun a few days
before. He hoped that if he made a hutch, Providence would supply a rabbit. He whistled blithely as he knocked nails in at random.
‘William, you mustn’t do that now’
He turned a stern gaze upon his mother.
‘Why not?’ he said.
‘Uncle George is resting.’
With a crushing glance at her he strolled away from the shed. Someone had left the lawn mower in the middle of the lawn. With one of his rare impulses of pure virtue he determined to be useful.
Also, he rather liked mowing the grass.
‘William, don’t do that now,’ called his sister from the window. ‘Uncle George is resting.’
He deliberately drove the mowing machine into the middle of the garden bed
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