“I can’t get down,” it said hoarsely.

Mrs. Brown’s heart stood still.

“Stay where you are, William,” she said faintly.  “Don’t move.”

The entire staff of removers was summoned.  A ladder was borrowed from a neighbouring garden and found to be too short.  Another was fetched and fastened to it.  William, at his dizzy height, was growing irritable.

“I can’t stay up here for ever,” he said severely.

At last he was rescued by his friend Mr. Blake and brought down to safety.  His account was confused.

“I wanted to help.  I wanted to open that door for ’em, so I climbed up by the scullery roof, an’ the ivy, an’ the drain-pipe, an’ I tried to get down the chimney.  I didn’t know which one it was, but I tried ‘em all an’ they were all too little, an’ I tried to get down by the ivy again but I couldn’t, so I waited till you came an’ hollered out.  I wasn’t scared,” he said, fixing them with a stern eye.  “I wasn’t scared a bit.  I jus’ wanted to get down.  An’ this ole black chimney stuff tastes beastly.  No, I’m all right,” he ended, in answer to tender inquiries.  “I’ll go on helpin’.”

He was with difficulty persuaded to retire to bed at a slightly earlier hour than usual.

“Well,” he confessed, “I’m a bit tired with helpin’ all day.”

Soon after he had gone Mr. Brown and Robert arrived.

“And how have things gone to-day?” said Mr. Brown cheerfully.

“Thank heaven William goes to school to-morrow,” said Ethel devoutly.

Upstairs in his room William was studying himself in the glass—­torn jersey, paint-stained trousers, blackened face.

“Well,” he said with a deep sigh of satisfaction, “I guess I’ve jolly well helped to-day!”

CHAPTER XI

WILLIAM AND THE SMUGGLER

William’s family were going to the seaside for February.  It was not an ideal month for the seaside, but William’s father’s doctor had ordered him a complete rest and change.

“We shall have to take William with us, you know,” his wife had said as they discussed plans.

“Good heavens!” groaned Mr. Brown.  “I thought it was to be a rest cure.”

“Yes, but you know what he is,” his wife urged.  “I daren’t leave him with anyone.  Certainly not with Ethel.  We shall have to take them both.  Ethel will help with him.”

Ethel was William’s grown-up sister.

“All right,” agreed her husband finally.  “You can take all responsibility.  I formally disown him from now till we get back.  I don’t care what trouble he lands you in.  You know what he is and you deliberately take him away with me on a rest cure!”

“It can’t be helped dear,” said his wife mildly.

William was thrilled by the news.  It was several years since he had been at the seaside.