Still William by Richmal Crompton Read Free Book Online Page A

the wood at their right.
    ‘Look at ’em – the young rascals! Look at ’em! An’ a dawg! Blarst ’em! Er-r-r-r-r!’
    The last was a sound expressive of rage and threatening.
    ‘Keepers!’ said William. ‘Run for your lives, braves. Come on, Jumble.’
    They fled through the thicket.
    ‘Pleath,’ gasped Violet Elizabeth in the rear, ‘I can’t run as fatht ath that.’
    It was Ginger and Douglas who came back to hold her hands. For all that they ran fleetly, dashing through the undergrowth where the keepers found it difficult to follow, and dodging round trees.
At last, breathlessly, they reached a clearing and in the middle of it a cottage as small and attractive as a fairy tale cottage. The door was open. It had an empty look. They could hear the
keepers coming through the undergrowth shouting.
    ‘Come in here,’ gasped William. ‘It’s empty. Come in and hide till they’ve gone.’
    The four ran into a spotlessly clean little kitchen, and Ginger closed the door. The cottage was certainly empty. There was not a sound.
    ‘Ithn’t it a thweet little houth?’ panted Violet Elizabeth.
    ‘Come upstairs,’ said Douglas. ‘They might look in here.’
    The four, Jumble scrambling after them, clattered up the steep narrow wooden stairs and into a small and very clean bedroom.
    ‘Look out of the window and see when they go past,’ commanded William, ‘then we’ll slip out and go back.’
    Douglas peeped cautiously out of the window. He gave a gasp.
    ‘They – they’re not goin’ past,’ he said. ‘They – they’re comin’ in at the door.’
    The men’s voices could be heard below.
    ‘Comin’ in here – the young rascals! Look at their footmarks, see? What’ll my old woman say when she gets home?’
    ‘They’ve gone upstairs, too. Look at the marks. Blarst ’em!’
    William went to the window, holding Jumble beneath his arm.
    ‘We can easily climb down by this pipe,’ he said quickly. ‘Then we’ll run back.’
    He swung a leg over the window sill, prepared to descend with Jumble clinging round his neck, as Jumble was trained to do. Jumble’s life consisted chiefly of an endless succession of
shocks to the nerves.
    Ginger and Douglas prepared to follow.
    The men’s footsteps were heard coming upstairs when a small voice said plaintively, ‘Pleath – pleath, I can’t do that. Pleath, you’re not going to leave me, are
you?’
    William put back his foot.
    ‘We – we can’t leave her,’ he said. Ginger and Douglas did not question their leader’s decision. They stood in a row facing the door while the footsteps drew
nearer.
    The door burst open and the two keepers appeared.
    ‘Now, yer young rascals – we’ve got yer!’
    Into Mr Bott’s library were ushered two keepers, each leading two children by the neck. One held two rough-looking boys. The other held a rough-looking boy and a
rough-looking little girl. A dejected-looking mongrel followed the procession.
    ‘Trespassin’, sir,’ said the first keeper, ‘trespassin’ an’ a-damagin’ of the woods. Old ’ands, too. Seen ’em at it before but never caught
’em till now. An’ a dawg too. It’s an example making of they want, sir. They want pros-ecutin’ if I may make so bold. A-damagin’ of the woods and a-bringing of
a dawg—’
    Mr Bott who was new to squiredom and had little knowledge of what was expected of him and moreover was afflicted at the moment with severe private domestic worries, cast a harassed glance at the
four children. His glance rested upon Violet Elizabeth without the faintest flicker of recognition. He did not recognise her. He knew Violet Elizabeth. He saw her at least once or almost once a
day. He knew her quite well. He knew her by her ordered flaxen curls, pink and white face and immaculate bunchy skirts. He did not know this little creature with the torn, stained, bedraggled dress
(there was nothing bunchy about it now) whose extreme dirty face could just be seen beneath