he swarmed up to the balcony, his trumpet between his lips. The enemy appeared at the
window and shut it with a bang, and William, startled, dropped down among his followers. They raised a hoarse roar of anger.
‘Mean ole cat!’ shouted the enraged general.
The blood of the army was up. No army of thirty-strong worthy of its name could ever consent to be worsted by an enemy of one. All the doors and windows were bolted. There was only one thing to
be done. And this the general did, encouraged by loyal cheers from his army. ‘Go it, ole William! Yah! He – oo – o!’
The stone with which William broke the drawing-room window fell upon a small occasional table, scattering Mrs Brown’s cherished silver far and wide.
William, with the born general’s contempt for the minor devastations of war, enlarged the hole and helped his gallant band through with only a limited number of cuts and scratches. They
were drunk with the thrill of battle. They left the garden with its wreck of rose trees and its trampled lawn and crowded through the broken window with imminent danger to life and limb. The enemy
was shutting the small window of the coal-cellar, and there William imprisoned her, turning the key with a loud yell of triumph.
The party then proceeded.
It fulfilled the expectations of the guests that it was to be a party unlike any other party. At other parties they played ‘Hide and Seek’ – with smiling but firm mothers and
aunts and sisters stationed at intervals with damping effects upon one’s spirits, with ‘not in the bedrooms, dear’, and ‘mind the umbrella stand’, and ‘certainly
not in the drawing-room’, and ‘don’t shout so loud, darling’. But this was ‘Hide and Seek’ from the realms of perfection. Up the stairs and down the stairs, in
all the bedrooms, sliding down the balusters, in and out of the drawing-room, leaving trails of muddy boots and shattered ornaments as they went!
Ginger found a splendid hiding place in Robert’s bed, where his boots left a perfect impression of their muddy soles in several places. Henry found another in Ethel’s wardrobe,
crouching upon her satin evening shoes among her evening dresses. George banged the drawing-room door with such violence that the handle came off in his hand. Douglas became entangled in the
dining-room curtain, which yielded to his struggles and descended upon him and an old china bowl upon the sideboard. It was such a party as none of them had dreamed of; it was bliss undiluted. The
house was full of shouting and yelling, of running to and fro of small boys mingled with subterranean murmurs of Cook’s rage. Cook was uttering horrible imprecations and hurling lumps of coal
at the door. She was Irish and longed to return to the fray.
It was William who discovered first that it was teatime and there was no tea. At first he felt slightly aggrieved. Then he thought of the larder and his spirits rose.
‘Come on!’ he called. ‘All jus’ get what you can.’
They trooped in, panting, shouting, laughing, and all just got what they could.
Ginger seized the remnants of a cold ham and picked the bone, George with great gusto drank a whole jar of cream, William and Douglas between them ate a gooseberry pie, Henry ate a whole currant
cake. Each foraged for himself. They ate two bowls of cold vegetables, a joint of cold beef, two pots of honey, three dozen oranges, three loaves and two pots of dripping. They experimented upon
lard, onions, and raw sausages. They left the larder a place of gaping emptiness. Meanwhile Cook’s voice, growing hoarser and hoarser as the result of the inhalation of coal dust and
exhalation of imprecations, still arose from the depths and still the door of the coal-cellar shook and rattled.
Then one of the guests who had been in the drawing-room window came back.
‘She’s coming home!’ he shouted excitedly.
They flocked to the window.
Jane was bidding a fond farewell to her young man at the
window and shut it with a bang, and William, startled, dropped down among his followers. They raised a hoarse roar of anger.
‘Mean ole cat!’ shouted the enraged general.
The blood of the army was up. No army of thirty-strong worthy of its name could ever consent to be worsted by an enemy of one. All the doors and windows were bolted. There was only one thing to
be done. And this the general did, encouraged by loyal cheers from his army. ‘Go it, ole William! Yah! He – oo – o!’
The stone with which William broke the drawing-room window fell upon a small occasional table, scattering Mrs Brown’s cherished silver far and wide.
William, with the born general’s contempt for the minor devastations of war, enlarged the hole and helped his gallant band through with only a limited number of cuts and scratches. They
were drunk with the thrill of battle. They left the garden with its wreck of rose trees and its trampled lawn and crowded through the broken window with imminent danger to life and limb. The enemy
was shutting the small window of the coal-cellar, and there William imprisoned her, turning the key with a loud yell of triumph.
The party then proceeded.
It fulfilled the expectations of the guests that it was to be a party unlike any other party. At other parties they played ‘Hide and Seek’ – with smiling but firm mothers and
aunts and sisters stationed at intervals with damping effects upon one’s spirits, with ‘not in the bedrooms, dear’, and ‘mind the umbrella stand’, and ‘certainly
not in the drawing-room’, and ‘don’t shout so loud, darling’. But this was ‘Hide and Seek’ from the realms of perfection. Up the stairs and down the stairs, in
all the bedrooms, sliding down the balusters, in and out of the drawing-room, leaving trails of muddy boots and shattered ornaments as they went!
Ginger found a splendid hiding place in Robert’s bed, where his boots left a perfect impression of their muddy soles in several places. Henry found another in Ethel’s wardrobe,
crouching upon her satin evening shoes among her evening dresses. George banged the drawing-room door with such violence that the handle came off in his hand. Douglas became entangled in the
dining-room curtain, which yielded to his struggles and descended upon him and an old china bowl upon the sideboard. It was such a party as none of them had dreamed of; it was bliss undiluted. The
house was full of shouting and yelling, of running to and fro of small boys mingled with subterranean murmurs of Cook’s rage. Cook was uttering horrible imprecations and hurling lumps of coal
at the door. She was Irish and longed to return to the fray.
It was William who discovered first that it was teatime and there was no tea. At first he felt slightly aggrieved. Then he thought of the larder and his spirits rose.
‘Come on!’ he called. ‘All jus’ get what you can.’
They trooped in, panting, shouting, laughing, and all just got what they could.
Ginger seized the remnants of a cold ham and picked the bone, George with great gusto drank a whole jar of cream, William and Douglas between them ate a gooseberry pie, Henry ate a whole currant
cake. Each foraged for himself. They ate two bowls of cold vegetables, a joint of cold beef, two pots of honey, three dozen oranges, three loaves and two pots of dripping. They experimented upon
lard, onions, and raw sausages. They left the larder a place of gaping emptiness. Meanwhile Cook’s voice, growing hoarser and hoarser as the result of the inhalation of coal dust and
exhalation of imprecations, still arose from the depths and still the door of the coal-cellar shook and rattled.
Then one of the guests who had been in the drawing-room window came back.
‘She’s coming home!’ he shouted excitedly.
They flocked to the window.
Jane was bidding a fond farewell to her young man at the
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