content. Their internal mechanism, though fortified through the morning by a heavy
diet of unripe wild crab apples, unripe hazel nuts, green blackberries and grass (which they chewed meditatively between their more violent pursuits) told them that the luncheon hour was
approaching. Still munching merrily and humming discordantly, they approached William’s house. They crept furtively round the back of it behind the shrubberies.
William did not know what he looked like, but he took for granted that his appearance was such as to provoke exclamations of horror and disgust from his family. He was right. His wiry hair stood
up as usual in a thick jungle in the midst of which, at a crooked angle, nestled his cap. They had spent part of the morning damming a stream in the meadow with mud (which they also used as
ammunition against each other during any divergence of opinion), and William’s face and collar bore plentiful traces of that material. He had rubbed one eye with a mud-covered hand, and that
eye was muddier than all the rest, which is saying a good deal. His collar and tie were at the angle they usually attained after a morning of William’s normal activities.
William was just going into the potting-shed where he and Ginger were keeping a tin of beetles, when Ginger, who was peering through a hole in the fence, said in a sharp whisper: ‘I say
– I say – she’s come !’
William joined him, putting his eye to the hole.
He saw in Mrs Frame’s garden a tall woman who was not Mrs Frame. She sat in a chair reading. William could not see much of her face because it was hidden by the book, so he hoisted himself
up and sat on the fence looking down at her. She looked up. He saw a face that did not reassure him – middle-aged and distinctly fierce. She saw – what we have described. It is only
fair to her to say that what she saw did not reassure her either. But William, to do him justice, always made an attempt to establish friendly relationships.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I live here. Next door.’
She looked at him as though she could not believe her eyes, as though he were surely part of a nightmare and must vanish if she looked at him long enough. But no, he stayed there. He was real.
This dreadful apparition was real and said it lived next door. Horror and disgust settled upon her face.
‘You impertinent little boy!’ she said. ‘Go away! Get down!’
William considered this command in silence for a minute. He was a stern lover of justice.
‘I’m not in your garden,’ he said judicially, ‘an’ I s’pose we join at this fence. You’ve got half an’ we’ve got half. Well,
I’m sittin’ on our half. I wun’t mind you sittin’ on your half an’ I don’t see why—’
‘ Get – DOWN!’
William got down.
‘Did you hear that?’ he said to Ginger. ‘Did you hear her carryin’ on? Won’t let me even sit on jus’ our bit of the fence. Thinks it’s all hers.
’F I knew a policeman I’d jus’ go and ask him about it. I bet you could get put in prison for doin’ that, for not lettin’ people sit on their own bits of a
fence. Look at cats – cats sit on fences. Is she goin’ to stop all the cats in the world sittin’ on fences? You’d think from the way she went on that no one was allowed to sit on fences. Well, I’d jus’ like to know what fences is for if folks can’t sit on ’em—’
At this point William’s mother saw him from the morning-room window.
‘ William! ’ she screamed in horror. ‘Come in at once and wash your hands and face and brush your hair.’
William gave a sigh expressive of philosophic resignation, yelled, ‘G’d-bye’ to Ginger, who, at the maternal scream, had already begun to make his guilty way out of
William’s garden, and went indoors.
‘I see Mrs Frame’s tenant is here,’ said Mrs Brown at lunch. ‘She’s a Miss Montagu. I must call.’
‘I wun’t if I was you,’ said William.
‘Whyever not?’ said his
diet of unripe wild crab apples, unripe hazel nuts, green blackberries and grass (which they chewed meditatively between their more violent pursuits) told them that the luncheon hour was
approaching. Still munching merrily and humming discordantly, they approached William’s house. They crept furtively round the back of it behind the shrubberies.
William did not know what he looked like, but he took for granted that his appearance was such as to provoke exclamations of horror and disgust from his family. He was right. His wiry hair stood
up as usual in a thick jungle in the midst of which, at a crooked angle, nestled his cap. They had spent part of the morning damming a stream in the meadow with mud (which they also used as
ammunition against each other during any divergence of opinion), and William’s face and collar bore plentiful traces of that material. He had rubbed one eye with a mud-covered hand, and that
eye was muddier than all the rest, which is saying a good deal. His collar and tie were at the angle they usually attained after a morning of William’s normal activities.
William was just going into the potting-shed where he and Ginger were keeping a tin of beetles, when Ginger, who was peering through a hole in the fence, said in a sharp whisper: ‘I say
– I say – she’s come !’
William joined him, putting his eye to the hole.
He saw in Mrs Frame’s garden a tall woman who was not Mrs Frame. She sat in a chair reading. William could not see much of her face because it was hidden by the book, so he hoisted himself
up and sat on the fence looking down at her. She looked up. He saw a face that did not reassure him – middle-aged and distinctly fierce. She saw – what we have described. It is only
fair to her to say that what she saw did not reassure her either. But William, to do him justice, always made an attempt to establish friendly relationships.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I live here. Next door.’
She looked at him as though she could not believe her eyes, as though he were surely part of a nightmare and must vanish if she looked at him long enough. But no, he stayed there. He was real.
This dreadful apparition was real and said it lived next door. Horror and disgust settled upon her face.
‘You impertinent little boy!’ she said. ‘Go away! Get down!’
William considered this command in silence for a minute. He was a stern lover of justice.
‘I’m not in your garden,’ he said judicially, ‘an’ I s’pose we join at this fence. You’ve got half an’ we’ve got half. Well,
I’m sittin’ on our half. I wun’t mind you sittin’ on your half an’ I don’t see why—’
‘ Get – DOWN!’
William got down.
‘Did you hear that?’ he said to Ginger. ‘Did you hear her carryin’ on? Won’t let me even sit on jus’ our bit of the fence. Thinks it’s all hers.
’F I knew a policeman I’d jus’ go and ask him about it. I bet you could get put in prison for doin’ that, for not lettin’ people sit on their own bits of a
fence. Look at cats – cats sit on fences. Is she goin’ to stop all the cats in the world sittin’ on fences? You’d think from the way she went on that no one was allowed to sit on fences. Well, I’d jus’ like to know what fences is for if folks can’t sit on ’em—’
At this point William’s mother saw him from the morning-room window.
‘ William! ’ she screamed in horror. ‘Come in at once and wash your hands and face and brush your hair.’
William gave a sigh expressive of philosophic resignation, yelled, ‘G’d-bye’ to Ginger, who, at the maternal scream, had already begun to make his guilty way out of
William’s garden, and went indoors.
‘I see Mrs Frame’s tenant is here,’ said Mrs Brown at lunch. ‘She’s a Miss Montagu. I must call.’
‘I wun’t if I was you,’ said William.
‘Whyever not?’ said his
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