William—the good

WILLIAM and Ginger and Douglas (Henry was staying with an aunt) were engaged on their usual Monday morning pastime. A stream ran through the centre of the village, and flowed under the road at a point where the village worthies used to collect on fine Sunday afternoons and evenings to discuss local affairs, or to stand leaning against the railings gazing silently in front of them, deep, presumably, in thought, till bed-time. This little space by the railings was on Monday morning thickly covered with the matches with which the village worthies had lit their pipes or cigarettes. Ginger and William and Douglas carefully collected the matches. Then Ginger stood at one side of the road and put the matches into the stream, where it entered the large pipe which guided it beneath the road, and William stood at the other side with a little heap of stones and tried to hit the matches as they came out. Douglas stood by and acted as umpire. “Got it!” “Missed it!” he sang out blithely at intervals. Occasionally the game was held up by a dispute between William and Douglas as to whether some particular throw had been a hit or a miss. After a short time William changed rôles with Ginger, and Ginger tried to hit the matches as they came out. Spirited recrimination, insult and counter-insult, were hurled over the road.

“Fancy not hittin’ that one!” said William. “Well, I c’n hardly believe you din’t hit that one. It’s the biggest match I’ve ever seen in all my life. I don’t see how you could help hittin’ that one. Almost as big as a rollin’ pin.”

“Well!” said Ginger. “Well, I like that. I’ve hit hundreds more’n you hit. Thousands. An’ that—why, it was the teeniest, teeniest match I’ve ever seen. Not much bigger’n a pin.”

“Well, jus’ fancy not hittin’ that great big, enormous match. Butter-fingers!”

They met joyfully in the middle of the road and were only separated by a motor car, which took the corner at a terrific speed and narrowly missed putting an end to all further exploits of the Outlaws. They picked themselves up from the road, their original quarrel forgotten in a joint fury against the driver of the car.

“Serve him right if he’d killed us,” said Ginger, “an’ got hung for it.”

“No,” said William. “I bet it’d be more fun for him not to get hung—but for us to haunt him. I bet if he’d killed us an’ we’d turned into ghosts, we could have had awful fun haunting him—— I say”—warming to his theme—“I bet it would be as much fun as anythin’ we’ve ever done, hauntin’ someone, groanin’ an’ rattlin’ chains an’ scarin’ ’em an’ jumpin’ out at ’em an’ such like.”

“Wouldn’t he be mad?” chuckled Ginger, “an’ he cun’t do anything to us ’cause you can’t to a ghost. When you hit ’em, the hit sort of goes through ’em, an’ if they run after you, an’ catch you, the catch sort of goes through you, an’ anyway they’re all scared stiff of jus’ lookin’ at you. Won’t it be fun to have everyone scared stiff of jus’ lookin’ at you. I can think,” he went on meditatively, “of quite a lot of people I’d like to haunt when I’m dead—Ole Markie an’ Farmer Jenks an’ people like that. I bet it’d be more fun bein’ a ghost than anythin’—even a pirate.”

“I dunno,” said Douglas, “they can’t eat. Jus’ think of not bein’ able to eat. Jus’ think of seein’ sweet shop windows full of sweets an’ being able to get through doors an’ things so’s you could go into sweet shops at night when there was no one there lookin’ after ’em and yet not be able to eat.”

“Are you sure you can’t eat,” said Ginger anxiously.

“Yes,” said Douglas with great solemnity, “I know you can’t. You put out your hand to take up a sweet an’ your hand sort of keeps goin’ through ’em and can’t pick ’em up.”

The Outlaws shuddered at this horrible prospect.

“If you’re a pirate or a robber chief or even a Red Injun,” went on Douglas, “it’s jus’ as excitin’ an’ you can eat.”

The Outlaws agreed that on the whole it would be better to be pirates or robber chiefs or Red Indians than ghosts and returned to the pastime in which the passage of the motor car had disturbed them.

“Now go on,” William admonished Ginger, “see if you c’n hit a match what’s almost as big as—a—as a—as a—telegraph pole,” he said with a burst of inspiration; “see if——”

Douglas interrupted.

“I’m gettin’ a bit sick of umpirin’,” he said.

“All right,” said William generously. “All right. You can change places with Ginger an’ Ginger umpire for a bit an’ you hit—I bet you c’n hit better’n him.”

Ginger showed proper spirit in resenting this insult till the passage of another motor—at a more leisurely pace—again separated them. The driver leant over his seat, cursed them soundly and shook his fist at them. The Outlaws sitting in the dust by the roadside whither they had rolled on the approach of the car sat and gazed after it in horror and indignation. William found his voice first.

“Well!” he said. “Well! fancy nearly killin’ folks an’ then talkin’ like that to ’em. Coo—I’d like to haunt him.”

“Oh, come on,” said Douglas. “Gimme the stones and start puttin’ the matches in an’ I bet I hit every one.”

But it was suddenly discovered that there were only two matches left and that Ginger and William were tired of the game. Despite Douglas’ passionate protests they walked away from the stream, Douglas remarking bitterly:

“That’s always the way. Always. Always with everythin’! The minute my turn for anythin’ comes it stops.”

“What shall we do?” said Ginger when they had walked aimlessly to the end of the road.

“Let’s get out the bows and arrers an’ practise,” said William. “We’ve not done that for quite a long time.”

So they got out their bows and arrows, fixed up a target on a tree in William’s back garden and for some time practised happily enough. Only Douglas was still gloomy.

“Always the way,” he muttered bitterly as he listlessly strung his bow. “Umpire for hours an’ hours an’ hours an’ when my time comes only two matches left.”

“You can have first go hittin’ next Monday,” said William generously.

“Yes,” said Douglas, still bitter, “an’ it’ll be wet Sunday night an’ they’ll all stay indoors an’ there won’t be any matches. Oh, I know!”

He was further annoyed by the fact that he failed to score a bull.

“Always the same!” he said, “somethin’ wrong with my arrers now. ’S’enough for me to get hold of a thing for everything to go wrong—an’ anyway it’s a silly sort of thing to do—shootin’ with bows and arrers. Bow and arrer shootin’ isn’t any use to anyone but Normans an’ Red Indians an’ such like.”

William who had scored several bulls spiritedly opposed this view.

“I bet it is,” he said. “I bet it’s more use than any other sort of shootin’!”

Douglas gave vent to his general sense of bitterness and disappointment by a derisive laugh. “Huh!” he said, “Huh! D’you mean to say that bow an’ arrer shootin’s more use than gun shootin’ an’ pistol shootin’? What about the war? Was there any bow an’ arrer shootin’ in the war? No. They only did gun shootin’ an’ pistol shootin’ ’cause those is the only kinds of shootin’ what’s any good. D’you think that they’d have had only gun shootin’ if bow an’ arrer shootin’ was any good?”

William, having taken up any position, was seldom at a loss in defending it.

“Huh!” he said repeating Douglas’ derisive laugh, “Huh! Well, jus’ at first gun shootin’s better, of course. Anyone knows that. Jus’ at first. Because they shoot with gunpowder and nat’rally gunpowder shoots further than string. Yes, but you listen ... what about when all the gunpowder’s used up? What about a war what goes on so long that all the gunpowder’s used up? What’ll they do then? They’ll have to start shootin’ with bows an’ arrers then. Yes, an’ they’ll be in a nice mess too ’cause none of ’em’ll know how to shoot ’em an’ it’s not as easy as it looks. Yes, they’ll be jolly glad of us to teach ’em then. It’s jolly lucky for them we know how to do it. I bet we’ll all be made generals an’ commander-in-chiefs then. I bet if there’s another war they’ll soon use up all the gunpowder ’cause with all the lot they used up in the last war there can’t be much left an’ then we’ll come in with our bows an’ arrers.”

“Well, there’s not many of us to fight against a whole foreign army,” said Douglas gloomily. “Jus’ you an’ me an’ Ginger an’ Henry against a whole foreign army.”

“Y-yes,” admitted William reluctantly. Then he brightened. “But we could train some more. We could start trainin’ ’em now so as to be ready.”

It was not in William’s nature, however, to spend much time preparing for remote contingencies. He added hastily, “’S not as if we’d have to wait till we were grown up. I think that we ought to have a bow an’ arrer army all ready an’ it doesn’t matter not bein’ grown up for bows an’ arrers. You can shoot ’em jus’ as hard not grown up. Look at me,” he swaggered, “two bulls’ eyes straight after each other. Well, wot I think is this, that we oughter start right away makin’ a bow an’ arrer army. Wot I think is”—William was unconsciously lapsing into his platform manner—“that people aren’t as careful as what they ought to be about foreign armies landin’. There’s nothin’ to stop ’em. They can jus’ get into a ship an’ sail over to England an’ land same as anyone else an’ here’ll they be right in the middle of us before we know anythin’ about it. Wot I say is that we oughter do somethin’ now ’stead of waitin’ an’ waitin’ an’ waitin’ till it’s too late. Wot I say is that we might wake up to-morrow an’ find the fields here full of foreign enemies what have sailed over in the night an’ think what a long time it’d take to get our soldiers together an’ to get gunpowder for their guns. Before they’d have time to do that the foreign enemy’d have conquered ’em. Well, wot I say is that if we’re here with an army of bow and arrer shooters it’ll be all right. Bows an’ arrers don’t need a lot of gettin’ ready like guns—— If they break you can easy make another, an’ we can go on usin’ ’em long after they’ve used up all their gunpowder an’ got nothin’ left to shoot with. Well, wot I say is”—William, worked up for an oratorical climax, sought about in his mind for some striking and original remark and finding none repeated—“Wot I say is we’ve gotta get a bow an’ arrer army.”

Ginger and Douglas, carried away by this flow of eloquence, cheered loudly.

William collected his “bow an’ arrer army” with surprising speed. The holidays were drawing to a close and most of his school friends and acquaintances were growing tired of their own resources and were willing to follow William wherever he led them. Some of them already possessed bows and arrows. Others bought them. Others made them. William assembled them on the first day on which they were fully equipped and harangued them.

“Soldiers,” he said, “we’ve all gotter learn bow and arrer shootin’ so as to be ready for when all the gunpowder in the world gets finished up which, of course, it must do sometime, same as coal, we’ve gotter be ready for when a foreign enemy comes suddenly over in ships by night an’ is here right in the middle of England before anyone finds out. They’d be disguised, of course, till they started fightin’. Well, we’ve gotter be ready with our bows and arrers to fight ’em an’ hold ’em at bay till the real army’s got together, an’ got its guns an’ gunpowder an’ things, an’ then we’ve gotter be ready to fight ’em again when all the gunpowder’s used up. That’s what we’ve gotter do, we’ve gotter be ready,” William as ever was at this point fired by his own eloquence, “we’ve gotter be ready to save our country from the enemy, same as people like Moses an’ Napoleon did....”

“Napoleon din’t,” said a small child in the rear.

“Moses din’t neither,” said another.

“Oh, they din’t, din’t they?” said William threateningly, annoyed at the interruption.

They looked at William. William after all was more real than Moses and Napoleon. It didn’t matter what Moses and Napoleon had done. It did matter what William might do.

“All right then,” they agreed pacifically, “they did then.”

“Course they did,” said William, “an’ that’s what we’ve gotter do. Save the country from the foreign enemies.”

His faithful band waved their bows and arrows and cheered enthusiastically.

At first all went well. The Bow and Arrow Army practised diligently under William’s leadership. They set up a target on a tree, stood in a long line one behind another, and as each came to the front on the word of command from William shot at the target, while the result was noted on a slate by Ginger. So far so good. But the archers with the perversity of human nature soon began to grow tired of it. They weren’t content to stand in a row, step forward at William’s word of command, shoot, and have the result noted on a slate by Ginger. It was all right just at first, but after an hour or so it became boring. True, the small boy who had challenged the historical truth of William’s reference to Napoleon introduced a diversion by shooting William calmly and deliberately by a well aimed arrow in the middle of his stomach and running off, leaving William writhing in agony on the ground. William, however, quickly recovered and was on the point of furiously pursuing his assailant when he was held back by Ginger who pointed out, truly enough, that if William were to leave them the bored archers would probably straggle off to other diversions. So William, ever an opportunist, turned the incident to account. He made another speech.

“Soldiers,” he said. “You can jus’ see from me being nearly killed then, what a deadly weapon a bow’n arrer is. That’s what you’ve gotter do to the foreign enemies of the country, hit them in the stomach nearly killin’ ’em like what John Francis did me. And,” he ended simply, “when I catch John Francis I’ll jolly well show him.”

The archers, because cheering is a change from shooting at a target, cheered.

But the fact remained that the archers were growing bored. They preferred William as leader of lawless expeditions to William as Commander-in-Chief of a disciplined band of archers. Shooting at a target is thrilling enough for the first day, becomes less thrilling on the second and is boring in the extreme on the third. None of them dared to vary the monotony as had John Francis by shooting William. John Francis, it transpired, had acted thus quite safely in the knowledge that he was going away the next day on a fortnight’s visit to an aunt, and it was a known fact that no insult ever lived in William’s memory for longer than a week. William’s life was too full to admit of his cherishing vengeance against anyone for longer than a week.

The scarecrows were William’s idea. It was indeed such an idea as could have been no one’s but William’s. William realised that his band of warriors was growing daily more listless and discontented, that it was held together solely by the hope—daily diminishing—that something exciting really was going to happen soon, and they only did not desert in a body because they were afraid of finding afterward that they had missed an adventure.

So William thought of the scarecrows.

He realised that a target lacked human interest and he realised that in almost every neighbouring field stood a fairly lifelike scarecrow which might well serve to represent the foreign enemy to whose destruction he had so often urged his gallant band. Moreover all the fields were “trespass fields,” and between William and the neighbouring farmers there waged a deadly feud which would lend to the expedition that element of lawlessness and adventure without which William as well as the archer band was feeling the whole thing to be rather flat.

Upon hearing this the archer band brightened perceptibly and set off behind their leader lovingly fingering their bows and chanting joyous songs of battle. The adventure did not disappoint them. They had a glorious day, a day that glowed brightly in their memories for many months. They surrounded every scarecrow in every field and shot at it with bow and arrow till it collapsed realistically and blood-curdlingly into a heap on the ground. When the result did not take place quickly enough, they hastened it by a few discreetly placed stones. A scarecrow, as an enemy, possesses the supreme advantage (to its assailant) of not being able to do anything back. From two or three of the fields they were chased by irate farmers which gave the game the piquant edge of excitement they had all hoped for.

William would have liked his men to shoot at the farmer enemy as they retreated but even he had to admit that this was more difficult than it sounds. He tried it, hit Ginger by mistake and fell over a ploughed furrow at the same time. William had never heard of the Parthians but if he had, would have had a deep, deep respect for them. They retired, however, fleetly and in good order, leaving none of their number in the hands of the enemy who finally gave up the chase, and purple-faced with breathlessness and fury, contented themselves with standing and shaking their fists at them till they were out of sight. It was altogether a glorious and thrilling day. But William realised with something of apprehension that it could not be repeated indefinitely. It was doubtful even whether it could be repeated once. The scarecrows were completely demolished and if new ones were set up it was pretty certain that they would be closely guarded. No, the band must not expect a day like this every day. They must be content with routine work for some time after this—with drilling and shooting at targets. Before they disbanded William delivered one of his stirring speeches.

“Now we’ve seen to-day,” he said, “what we can do to a foreign enemy if one lands an’ comes right into the middle of England. We can knock ’em to pieces same as we did the scarecrows,” he ignored the convenient passivity of the scarecrow enemy which had assured the victory, and continued, “an’ then if they start runnin’ after us we can get out of their way same as we did out of Farmer Jenks’ an’ Farmer Hodges’, and then when they’re too tired to run any more, we can shoot at ’em again same as we could have done at Farmer Jenks an’ Farmer Hodges if it hadn’t been tea-time. An’—an’ now we’ve gotter go on practising quietly for a bit so’s to be ready, ’cause—’cause we never know when we’ll wake up one mornin’ an’ find all the fields full of foreign enemies what have come over in the night.”

The band of archers, inspirited by the events of the day, cheered enthusiastically.

The next morning William woke early and looked out of the window. His eyes opened wider and wider and wider. He rubbed them and looked again. It was true. The fields near the house were full of soldiers and tents. He dressed himself in a state of stupefied amazement. It had really happened. A foreign enemy had really crossed over in the night and had entrenched itself in the fields about his home. William descended to breakfast still feeling dazed.

“I say,” he said, “there’s soldiers. All over the field.”

“It’ll be the manœuvres,” said his sister Ethel casually.

“How do you know it’s the mou—what you said?” said William sternly. Ethel looked at him.

“There’d be a fortune,” she said, “for anyone who would invent a hairbrush that would make a boy’s hair look tidy.”

“But they’d never use it even if anyone did,” said William’s mother gloomily.

William snorted and sat down before his porridge plate. That was just like his family. A foreign enemy only a few yards away and all they could talk about was his hair. Probably when the foreign enemy started shooting at them and killing them they’d still be going on at him about his hair or his face or something. Nothing—nothing—could ever stop them. Bitterly William wondered whether such people were worth saving.

After a hasty breakfast he hurried out to his archer band. He found them mildly excited.

“But they’re English soldiers,” said one with a certain disappointment in his voice. “I’ve heard ’em talkin’ English.”

“Course they talk English, silly,” said William crushingly, “but that doesn’t prove they’re English. Course they taught ’em English before they brought ’em over. Do you think they’d bring ’em over talking foreign langwidges an’ arousin’ everyone’s suspicions? Course not. Course they c’n talk English. I bet they saw you listening an’ started talkin’ English jus’ so’s not to arouse your suspicions.” William had come across this phrase in a Secret Service story the night before and was proud of having an opportunity of using it, “But you go’n listen to them when they don’t think anyone’s listenin’ an’ I bet you’ll find ’em talkin’ foreign langwidges.”

Obviously the majority of the Archer band was impressed by this. But one small doubting warrior piped up:

“Well, when I told my father this mornin’ that I’d seen ’em, he said, ‘Oh, yes. It’ll be the manooverers’—or something like that—‘an’ I don’t suppose they’ll be here more than a day or two.’”

“Yes,” said William excitedly, “that’s jus’ it. That’s jus’ what they knew people’d say. They come here dressed like English soldiers an’ talkin’ English so as not to arouse suspicion and they know that the English people’ll jus’ take for granted that they’re English till they start fightin’ ’em and then it’ll be too late. English people are like that. They look out of their windows an’ see a lot of soldiers in English clothes talkin’ the English langwidge an’ they say, ‘Oh, yes, it’ll be the—the—mooverers’—same as what George’s father said, an’ Ethel said, and they start talkin’ about my hair jus’ as if they weren’t goin’ to be killed the next minute.”

“What does it mean?” piped up a small archer in the background.

“What does what mean?” said William to gain time.

“That word you said—Mooverers.”

William cleared his throat.

“It’s—it’s a French word meanin’ English Soldier,” he said. His stern eye wandered among his Archers daring any of them to deny it. No one did deny it because everyone believed it implicitly.

“Well, that’s wot I say,” went on William relieved, “they knew that when English people saw they were dressed like English soldiers an’ talkin’ the English langwidge they’d say, ‘Oh, they’re jus’ mooverers,’ an’ not do anythin’ to stop ’em. They’ll stay here till they’ve learnt all about the country, then they’ll conquer the village an’ then they’ll go on an’ conquer all the rest of England. But—we’ve—gotter stop ’em.”

The Archers waved their bows and arrows and cheered enthusiastically. This was better than practising at a target. This was better even than shooting scarecrows.

“Let’s go now,” said William and added cautiously, “jus’ to have a look at ’em first. We mus’ make plans careful before we start fightin’ ’em.”

The band of Archers marched joyously down the road still cheering and waving bows and arrows.

At the gate of the large field they stopped and gazed at the scene. There were small tents and big tents, and everywhere soldiers were hurrying to and fro or standing talking in groups.

“There’s some officers in that tent,” said William, “an’ I bet if you went up to it you’d find ’em talkin’ foreign langwidges.”

“Well, go up to it an’ see,” challenged Ginger.

“All right, I will,” said William promptly accepting the challenge.

Watched in a thrilled silence by his Archers he went further down the road till he was just behind the tent, then he wriggled through the hedge. William had through long experience brought wriggling through hedges to a fine art. Then he crawled up to the tent and daringly lifted it an inch or so, placing his ear to the aperture. Inside were two young officers. The first had just said:

“I saw the old man coming out of the ‘Blue Boar’ this morning.” And just as William lifted the flap and applied his ear to it, the other was replying:

“Honi soit qui mal y pense.”

William replaced the flap, crawled back to the hedge, and wriggled through to the road.

“They were talkin’ foreign langwidges,” he said excitedly, “foreign langwidges wot I couldn’t understand a word of——”

The Archers cheered loudly. So stimulated were they by the prospect of adventure, that they would have been bitterly disappointed had William brought back any other report.

“Well, we’ve gotta make plans,” said William, assuming a stern and thoughtful demeanour.

“’Sno good rushin’ at ’em, straight away. There’s more of them than what there is of us. We’ve found out—I’ve found out, I mean—that they’re a foreign enemy. Well, we’ve gotter save the country from ’em. That’s what we’ve gotter do. But it’s no good rushin’ at ’em before we’ve made plans. We’ve gotta make plans first. An’ we’ve gotter be cunnin’ as well as brave ’cause there’s so many more of them than what there is of us. We’ve gotter find out first who’s the head of ’em an’ we’ve gotter do it without—without arousin’ their suspicions.”

The Archers cheered again lustily.

They would have cheered William now whatever he had said. The longed-for adventure had come. They were willing to trust themselves blindly and joyously to William’s sole leadership. Ginger felt that William was having rather more than his fair share of the limelight.

“I’ll find out who’s the head of ’em,” he offered. “I bet it’s a dang’rous thing to do but I bet I do it all right.”

The Archers cheered Ginger.

“I bet it’s no more dang’rous than seein’ if they were talkin’ in foreign langwidges,” challenged William.

Ginger’s proud spirit had been assuaged by the Archers’ cheers. He felt that he could afford to be generous.

“No, it’s just about the same,” he conceded.

He wriggled through the hole which had been left in the hedge by the passage of William’s solid body and began to creep very cautiously along the tents, peeping under each to see their interior. At one he evidently made a discovery of a sensational nature. He turned round, made excited but incomprehensible signs to the Outlaws who were watching over the hedge, then began to crawl back. He plunged through the hole and began at once.

“I’ve found the head of ’em. He’s a big fat man with a red face an’ a white moustache an’ he’s sittin’ at a table lookin’ at a map.”

“Well, that proves it,” said William equally excited, “that proves it. If he wasn’t foreign he wun’t need to be lookin’ at a map, would he? If he was really English like what they pretend to be he wun’t need to be lookin’ at a map of England. He’d’ve done England at school in Geography.”

The Archers agreed that the logic of this was unassailable.

William continued:

“Well, now that’s the first thing we’ve gotter do. We’ve gotter take his map off him. I said it was no use rushin’ at ’em an’ we’d gotter be cunnin’. Well, that’s the first cunnin’ thing we’ve gotter do. We’ve gotter take his map off him an’ then you see he won’t know what to do or where he is or anythin’.”

“Well,” said Ginger hastily, “I’ve done enough findin’ out about who he is. I’m not goin’ to take his map off him.”

“No,” said William; “it’s time Douglas did something.”

The Archers cheered this.

It was well known that Douglas did not care to expose himself unnecessarily to danger. But Douglas received the suggestion with stoic courage. Despite his preference for a quiet life, Douglas was no coward.

“All right,” he said resignedly, “jus’ tell me how to do it, an’ I’ll do it.”

But the discussion was interrupted by the sight of the big fat man with the red face and white moustache emerging from his tent, map in hand.

“There he is!” hissed Ginger. “Din’ I tell you? Map’n all!”

With eyes starting out of their heads the Archers watched the progress of the red-faced warrior as he came slowly down the field, his eyes still fixed on the map outspread in his hands.

“Wonder what he’s thinkin’ about,” said Ginger.

“Whatever he’s thinkin’ about,” said William knowingly, “I bet he’s thinkin’ about it in a foreign langwidge.”

The fat, red-faced man was coming to the gate of the field. His eyes still fixed on the map, he came out into the road.

The Archers, looking round for a hiding-place, saw none but the ditch into which they hastily precipitated themselves. The man came slowly down the road, still looking at the map. He passed the Archers crouching in the ditch. The sight of the enemy thus within his grasp was too much for William. Without waiting to consider or reason William acted.

General Bastow, walking peaceably down the road studying his map as he went, was amazed to see a boy suddenly scramble up out of the ditch by the roadside. A moment later he was still more amazed to receive the full force of the boy’s bullet-head in his stomach, and to be forced by its sheer iron weight into a sitting posture in the dust. For a moment physical agony blinded him to everything but the outrage committed by that dastardly boy upon his digestive organs. Then his vision cleared. He found his map gone and a boy disappearing on the horizon. It was not General Bastow’s habit to receive any outrage sitting down (except as in this case inadvertently). With a roar of fury he set off in pursuit, less in order to recover his map (of which he had other copies) than in order to inflict condign punishment upon the person of his assailant. But it was not for nothing that William was pursued regularly and unavailingly by all the local farmers. William’s life had perforce been largely spent in throwing off pursuers. When General Bastow, plum-coloured and panting, had reached the cross-roads, there was no sign of William anywhere. It seemed futile to continue the pursuit, so the elderly warrior, panting and rumbling like a threatening volcano, returned slowly back along the road to the gate, which led into the field, and back into his tent. When he had finally disappeared, still rumbling furiously, into his tent, the Archers scrambled out of the ditch in an awestruck silence and went towards the cross-roads where William had vanished.

There they saw William emerging, jaunty and unshaken, from behind a hayrick in a neighbouring field, carrying the map. He joined them on the road.

“Well,” he chuckled, “now they’ll be in a nice fix. They jolly well won’t know what to do without the map. They won’t know where they are or anythin’. I say”—with a reminiscent chuckle—“din’t he go down with a flop?” Then with his own inimitable swagger: “My head’s jolly strong. I bet there’s jolly well no one I can’t knock over with my head.”

“What’ll we do next?” said Ginger joyfully.

“Oh, jus’ watch ’em for a bit,” said William, “they won’t know what to do without their map.”

Next day every movement of the innocent company of territorials was interpreted by William as one of utter bewilderment and despair.

“Look at ’em, marchin’ down there, cause that’s where they saw me go off with the map an’ they’re tryin’ to find it. They dunno what to do without it. Look at that one goin’ into the village. He’s goin’ to try’n buy another map an’ he won’t be able to ’cause they don’t keep ’em. Look at that one postin’ a letter. He’s writin’ off to the foreign country they come from to tell ’em that they’ve had the map took and to ask ’em what to do.”

The great discovery was when he found a company of them digging a trench, at the end of the field.

“Look at ’em. They’re givin’ up tryin’ to conquer England now they’ve had their map took off them an’ they daren’t go home by ship, same as they came, because they know now that someone knows about ’em with getting their map stole—so look at ’em. I bet they live at the other side of the world an’ they’re tryin’ to dig themselves through back to their homes, you know, ’cause of the world bein’ round like what they say it is in geography.”

The Archers were so pleased with his idea that they cheered again lustily. Its only drawback was that few of them had really in their hearts ever subscribed to the theory that the earth is round. As Douglas said—when they began now to discuss the idea afresh:

“Stands to reason, dun’t it, that folks can’t walk about upside down like flies. They’d drop off the earth altogether. Even if they tried holdin’ on by trees an’ things they’d be sure to drop off in the end. Ships couldn’t stay in the sea either. They’d drop out.”

“And the sea cun’t stay there neither,” said Ginger, elaborating the theme. “You can’t have water stayin’ in a place upside down without anythin’ to keep it in. It’d spill out.”

“Well, what’re we goin’ to do about this foreign army?” said an Archer who was not interested in the problematical shape of the earth.

“Jus’ wait an’ watch ’em for a bit still,” said William. “We’ve got their map. They can’t do anythin’ without their map.”

But by the end of the next day both William and his Archers had tired of waiting and watching.

They felt that the time was ripe for some decisive coup, and so they met in William’s back garden to decide what form exactly the coup should take. William led the discussion.

“I votes,” he said, “that we get the general man away from them somehow. Then when we attack them they’ll have no one to tell’m what to do. They’ll be without a leader an’ we’ll easy be able to put ’em to flight.”

“Yes, but how’ll we get the ole general away from them?” demanded the Archers.

“Well, we’ll talk about that now,” said William.

So they talked about that.

The next evening was the last evening of the manœuvres and there was a relaxed atmosphere about the camp. General Bastow set off to dine with an acquaintance who lived at the further end of the village, though the General wasn’t quite sure where, as he’d never visited him before at home. Dusk was falling as he walked along the road. He had been terribly bored by the manœuvres and he still hadn’t forgotten that brutal attack perpetrated upon him in broad daylight by that dastardly young ruffian. He was certain that his liver had never been the same since. He still had hopes of meeting that young ruffian face to face. He’d never come across a place with so many boys in it. Crowds of boys seemed to have been watching the camp ever since they settled there, peeping over the hedge, following men and officers about. He was rather short-sighted, and he hadn’t had time to look for that young ruffian again, but he’d know him if he saw him. He turned a corner of the road and suddenly came across a small boy crying bitterly. It was the youngest Archer, but the General, of course, could not know this, nor could the General know that the whole body of Archers was concealed in the muddy ditch, watching the encounter. The General did not like small boys, but he felt that he could not pass by a small boy in such deep distress without some offer of assistance.

“Well, well, well,” he bellowed irritably, “what’s the matter with you, my little man?”

“I’m lo—o—o—o—ost!” sobbed his little man.

“Oh, nonsense! nonsense!” boomed the General. “Nonsense! We’ll soon find your home for you!”

“T—thank you,” sobbed his little man, slipping his hand confidingly in his. “T—thank you.”

The General had not quite bargained for this. He had not meant to spend his evening finding a home for a lost boy, but fate seemed to have thrust the situation upon him.

“Where do you think you live, my little man?” he said testily.

“D—down this road, I think,” sobbed his little man.

In the gathering dusk he led his rescuer down the road.

“Will you recognise the house when you see it?” said the General.

“Y—yes, I think so,” sobbed the youngest Archer.

“Well, stop crying, my good child, stop crying. Try to be a man. Crying won’t do any good.”

The youngest Archer stopped crying. He was glad to be told to stop crying. It is quite easy to sob convincingly for a minute or two but difficult to continue it indefinitely. He was afraid that his performance was beginning to lack realism. At each house along the road the General said, “Do you think you live here, my little man?” and his little man said with a break in his voice of which he was secretly proud, “No—no. N—not here.” Till they got to the large house at the end of the road, then, when the General said, “Do you live here, my little man?” the youngest Archer said, brightly, “Why, yes, I think—I think it’s here.”

They entered the wrought iron gates together, and walked half-way up the drive. Then the youngest Archer gently withdrew his hand and disappeared in the dusk. The General stood gazing around, his eyes and mouth wide open. The child had vanished as completely as if the earth had opened to swallow him up. Behind him he heard a clang of metal as the iron gates swung to. As he was standing there, amazed and indecisive, the front door opened and a voice said:

“That you, General?”

With relief the General recognised the voice of the friend with whom he was going to dine.

“Found your way to the house all right?” went on the friend.

“Well, a curious chance led me here,” said the General, “as a matter of fact, I’d no idea it was your house till you spoke. A little boy who said he was lost—but he was probably playing a trick on me, the young ruffian. All boys are the same. Why, only the other day on the main road in broad daylight——”

Talking volubly he entered the hall with his host who shut the front door behind him.

When the General and the realistically sobbing youngest Archer had turned the bend of the road, the main body of Archers with their bows and arrows climbed out of the ditch and clustered round William.

“Well,” said William, “I mus’ say he did that jolly well—jolly well—— Now let’s sep’rate. Ginger an’ Douglas and half of you go after them an’ me ’n’ the others’ll go back an’ charge the soldiers an’ with him not bein’ there they won’t know what to do, an’ they’ll have no one to lead ’em. Come on!”

With a flourish he led his half army away and Ginger and his little band set off cautiously down the road in the wake of the General and the youngest Archer.

Soon they saw the youngest Archer come out of the gates, shut them behind him, and run excitedly down the road to meet them.

“I’ve shut him in,” he said in a shrill whisper, “he’s in all right.”

They approached the iron gate and clustered around it, watching and listening. All was as still and silent as it had been when the youngest Archer left it. He could not know, of course, that he had led the General to his host nor that in that brief interval during which he ran to greet and report to his friends, the General had been received and admitted by the master of the house. They gazed and listened. All was still—all was silent—and it was growing dark.

“He’s creepin’ about the garden, I bet,” said the youngest Archer, “tryin’ to find a way out—— Look, I believe I c’n see him. Over there.”

The more imaginative of the Archers said that they thought they could see him too.

“Well, half of us’ll stay here guardin’ this gate,” said Ginger, “an’ shoot him if he tries to come out, an’ half go round to the back gate, an’ guard that an’ shoot him if he tries to come out. He won’t dare to try’n take refuge in the house, ’cause it’s Mr. Hunter’s, an he’s a magistrate an’ he’d know at once that he was a foreign enemy an’ put him in prison. He’ll either stay hidin’ in the garden or else try’n’ get out of this gate when we’ll shoot him or else try’n’ get out of the other gate when the others’ll shoot him.”

The others had already gone round to the side gate. Ginger and his little band pressed their noses against the wrought iron and gazed intently into the garden.

It was a windy night and black shadows moved with the swaying trees.

“Look, there he is,” Ginger would say, “crouchin’ down there! Look! He moved! D’you see!”

The Archers saw. With every minute that passed their imaginations grew keener and there was not one of them who did not distinctly see the dark shadow of General Bastow, creeping round the corners of the house and beneath the trees.

“He’s gettin’ desperater an’ desperater,” said Ginger, “he daren’t go in ’cause he knows it’s a magistrate livin’ there, an’ he daren’t come out ’cause he knows we’re waitin’ to shoot him, an’ he’s jus’ creepin’ about gettin’ desperater an’ desperater.”

It happened that in Mr. Hunter’s garden was a pond much frequented by frogs. Suddenly through the night air came the sound of a frog’s croak—then another—then another.

“Listen to him moanin’ an’ groanin’,” interpreted Ginger, “gettin’ desperater an’ desperater.”

There came the sound of a splash as a frog jumped into the pond and then silence.

“He’s drowned himself,” said Ginger in an awestruck voice. “He’s got desperater an’ desperater till he’s drowned himself.”

There was another silence.

“He must have,” said Ginger. “I don’t see him creepin’ about anywhere now, do you?”

The Archers didn’t.

“Let’s go’n’ look,” said a specially bold one.

They opened the gate cautiously and crept up the drive past the house to the pond. It was perhaps as well that they could not see through the dining-room blind the figure of their supposed victim sitting at a table, stout and red-faced as ever, eating and drinking heartily.

They clustered round the pond. Dark shadows lay at the bottom of it.

“I can see his dead body,” said Ginger, “can’t you? Over there. Under that tree. Right at the bottom.”

The more imaginative Archers said that they could see his dead body quite plainly. The less imaginative ones said that they thought they could.

“Well, we’d better go,” said Ginger. “Now he’s drowned hisself there’s no use stayin’ here keepin’ guard. Let’s get over the side gate an’ go’n’ help William.”

Meanwhile William and his band had walked back to the field where the “foreign enemy” was still entrenched. Just behind the trench was the high wall which bounded a garden belonging to Miss Milton, an inveterate enemy of William’s. But—fortunately for William—Miss Milton was away on her holiday and a caretaker occupied the house. William had little fear or respect for caretakers. He knew by long experience that they spent most of their time sleeping, were generally deaf and short-sighted and always short-winded. Heartened by this thought he collected and addressed his followers.

“Now’s the time for us to attack ’em,” he said flourishing his bow and arrows in a warlike manner. “Now’s the time, while they haven’t got their leader to tell ’em what to do. We’ll go into Miss Milton’s garden—careful, ’cause the old woman mightn’t be asleep, but anyway she’s sure to be deaf so it’ll be all right. We’ll climb up behind the wall an’ lean over an’ attack ’em with the bow an’ arrers an’ I bet you—I jolly well bet you anythin’ you like that we put ’em to flight.”

The Archers cheered in shrill excitement and marched off gaily in their leader’s wake. William knew the best hole through the hedge into Miss Milton’s garden. William knew the best holes through the hedges into most of his neighbours’ gardens. This was not unnatural as most of them had been made by the frequent furtive passage of William’s body. The other Archers followed less nimbly being less accustomed than their leader to such means of entrance. In the garden William stood and looked about him. All was silent and empty. There was not even a serpent in the garden in the shape of a gardener. And the windows at the back of the house were reassuringly blank. No suspicious caretaker’s face was visible at any of them. William heaved a sigh of relief.

“That’s all right,” he said to his army. “Now come along—creep—to the bottom where the wall is.”

They crept to the bottom of the garden, William creeping at their head. They imitated faithfully William’s manner of creeping, but none of them approached William’s creeping form. William was justly proud of his creeping. Not for nothing had he practised being a Red Indian and a robber chief and a cinema villain painstakingly and for many years. He had brought creeping to a fine art. The finest villain on the cinema stage might have learnt something from William’s creeping. It was not perhaps a very unobtrusive mode of procedure but it was dramatic. He suited his expression to his walk and assumed an air of furtive cunning. So wrapt up was he in fulfilling his rôle of creeper to his own satisfaction that it was not till he reached the bottom of the garden that he realised that the wall was too high for them and that they could not possibly see over it, much less launch an attack from the top of it. The other Archers were taken aback, but William assumed his stern frown of leadership.

“We’ll jus’ have to get somethin’ to stand on,” he hissed in a dramatic whisper.

A small Archer attempted a cheer but was muffled and cuffed by an older one.

So they set about finding something to stand on. Under William’s direction, and still creeping with melodramatic furtiveness to and fro, they fetched a table from a summer-house and put upon it a row of large plant pots upside down. As this did not hold them all, others moved forward a cucumber frame, stood it up sideways and balanced plant plots upon it. Then laboriously and, miraculously, without accident, they mounted the precarious erection and peeped cautiously over the top of the wall. Yes, the soldiers were still in the trench below them.

“Get your bows an’ arrers ready,” hissed William.

They got them ready as best they could, holding on to the wall with one hand while the erection of table and cucumber frame and plant pots rocked beneath them.

“One, two, three—fire!” said William.

They fired.