and suffering from senile decay.
She told how in the same town she met four boys, one a descendant of Shakespeare, another a descendent of Scott, another a descendant of the poet Wordsworth, and the fourth a descendant of
Nelson. It was wonderful, wasn’t it? Her lecture was a great success.
That Christmas one Christmas card was sent to William that never reached him. It was sent from America, and it was addressed to ‘Master William Shakespeare Brown, Stratford-on-Avon,
England’.
CHAPTER 6
THE MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE OF MISS MONTAGU
W ILLIAM was relieved to hear that his family was not going away for August. William disliked holidays spent away from home. He was not one of those
people whose nerves require a frequent change of scene. William could never tire of his beloved familiar woods and fields and ponds, his Outlaw friends, his dog, and a whole long summer’s day
before him to do in exactly as he liked.
Holidays away from home involved tidy clothes, hands and face and hair in a perpetual and uncomfortable state of washedness and brushedness, monotonous outings with his family (whose ideas of
pleasure were always a source of amazement and horror to William), politeness to people whom he never wished to see again, and unceasing admonitions from every member of his family not to
‘disgrace’ them. Any following of his natural inclinations in any direction at all appeared to ‘disgrace’ them.
But at home, besides the ordinary delights of a carefree holiday, strange things often happened in August. The Vicar (whose quite justifiable dislike of William was returned with interest) was
generally away, and a ‘locum’ reigned in his stead. There was always a sporting chance that the ‘locum’ might be better tempered than the Vicar, and the Vicarage garden held
endless possibilities of delight as jungle or prairie or goldfield, as well as the thrill of a real live enemy in the shape of the Vicarage gardener, who shared his master’s well-founded
dislike of the Outlaws.
This August, however, the ‘locum’ was disappointing. He proved to be an elderly, peevish gentleman, who shuddered at the very sound of the human boy’s voice. To be quite fair
to him, less elderly, less peevish men had shuddered at the sound of William’s voice. One glance at him told William all he wished to know about him, and he promptly relinquished any dreams
of authorised hunting or gold-digging in the Vicarage garden that he may have cherished. After all, unauthorised hunting and gold-digging were really far more exciting – crawling in through
the hole in the hedge, creeping along through the shrubs with Red Indian precaution and silence, and occasionally flying like another Adam from Eden before the rheumaticky avenging angel that was
the Vicarage gardener.
On the whole, though friendship with the Vicarage had its advantages, William considered that enmity with the Vicarage was a far, far better and more exciting thing. It was not for nothing that
William and his friends called themselves the Outlaws.
But just after William had discovered that the ‘locum’ possessed none of the attributes that would have endeared him to the Outlaws, he made another discovery. He discovered that Mrs
Frame, who lived next door, was going away, and had let her house for August. All William could discover was that the lettee was of the female sex. That told him little. His experience had taught
him that while women can be much nicer than men, they can, on the other hand, be much more objectionable. On the whole, he would rather have had a man. You know more where you are with men . .
.
Henry and Douglas had been reluctantly dragged to the seaside in the wake of families on pleasure bent. Only Ginger was at home. And Ginger, as untidy and tousled and unwashed as William
himself, was, in William’s eyes, the ideal companion.
They had raced and rambled and scrambled and wrestled and climbed trees and trespassed to their heart’s
She told how in the same town she met four boys, one a descendant of Shakespeare, another a descendent of Scott, another a descendant of the poet Wordsworth, and the fourth a descendant of
Nelson. It was wonderful, wasn’t it? Her lecture was a great success.
That Christmas one Christmas card was sent to William that never reached him. It was sent from America, and it was addressed to ‘Master William Shakespeare Brown, Stratford-on-Avon,
England’.
CHAPTER 6
THE MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE OF MISS MONTAGU
W ILLIAM was relieved to hear that his family was not going away for August. William disliked holidays spent away from home. He was not one of those
people whose nerves require a frequent change of scene. William could never tire of his beloved familiar woods and fields and ponds, his Outlaw friends, his dog, and a whole long summer’s day
before him to do in exactly as he liked.
Holidays away from home involved tidy clothes, hands and face and hair in a perpetual and uncomfortable state of washedness and brushedness, monotonous outings with his family (whose ideas of
pleasure were always a source of amazement and horror to William), politeness to people whom he never wished to see again, and unceasing admonitions from every member of his family not to
‘disgrace’ them. Any following of his natural inclinations in any direction at all appeared to ‘disgrace’ them.
But at home, besides the ordinary delights of a carefree holiday, strange things often happened in August. The Vicar (whose quite justifiable dislike of William was returned with interest) was
generally away, and a ‘locum’ reigned in his stead. There was always a sporting chance that the ‘locum’ might be better tempered than the Vicar, and the Vicarage garden held
endless possibilities of delight as jungle or prairie or goldfield, as well as the thrill of a real live enemy in the shape of the Vicarage gardener, who shared his master’s well-founded
dislike of the Outlaws.
This August, however, the ‘locum’ was disappointing. He proved to be an elderly, peevish gentleman, who shuddered at the very sound of the human boy’s voice. To be quite fair
to him, less elderly, less peevish men had shuddered at the sound of William’s voice. One glance at him told William all he wished to know about him, and he promptly relinquished any dreams
of authorised hunting or gold-digging in the Vicarage garden that he may have cherished. After all, unauthorised hunting and gold-digging were really far more exciting – crawling in through
the hole in the hedge, creeping along through the shrubs with Red Indian precaution and silence, and occasionally flying like another Adam from Eden before the rheumaticky avenging angel that was
the Vicarage gardener.
On the whole, though friendship with the Vicarage had its advantages, William considered that enmity with the Vicarage was a far, far better and more exciting thing. It was not for nothing that
William and his friends called themselves the Outlaws.
But just after William had discovered that the ‘locum’ possessed none of the attributes that would have endeared him to the Outlaws, he made another discovery. He discovered that Mrs
Frame, who lived next door, was going away, and had let her house for August. All William could discover was that the lettee was of the female sex. That told him little. His experience had taught
him that while women can be much nicer than men, they can, on the other hand, be much more objectionable. On the whole, he would rather have had a man. You know more where you are with men . .
.
Henry and Douglas had been reluctantly dragged to the seaside in the wake of families on pleasure bent. Only Ginger was at home. And Ginger, as untidy and tousled and unwashed as William
himself, was, in William’s eyes, the ideal companion.
They had raced and rambled and scrambled and wrestled and climbed trees and trespassed to their heart’s
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