[Illustration:  “IF YOU’LL BE IN YOUR SUMMER-HOUSE AT HALF-PAST, I’LL BRING YOU SOME CREAM BLANC-MANGE.  TRULY I WILL!” SAID WILLIAM.]

“Look here, mother,” began William.  “Am I or am I not coming to the party to-night?”

William’s mother sighed.

“For goodness’ sake, William, don’t open that discussion again.  For the tenth time to-day, you are not!”

“But why not?” he persisted.  “I only want to know why not.  That’s all I want to know.  It looks a bit funny, doesn’t it, to give a party and leave out your only son, at least,”—­with a glance at Robert, and a slight concession to accuracy—­“to leave out one of your only two sons?  It looks a bit queer, surely.  That’s all I’m thinking of—­how it will look.”

“A bit higher your end,” said Ethel.

“Yes, that’s better,” said William’s mother.

“It’s a young folks’ party,” went on William, warming to his subject.  “I heard you tell Aunt Jane it was a young folks’ party.  Well, I’m young, aren’t I?  I’m eleven.  Do you want me any younger?  You aren’t ashamed of folks seeing me, are you!  I’m not deformed or anything.”

“That’s right!  Put the nail in there, Ethel.”

“Just a bit higher.  That’s right!”

“P’raps you’re afraid of what I’ll eat,” went on William bitterly.  “Well, everyone eats, don’t they?  They’ve got to—­to live.  And you’ve got things for us—­them—­to eat to-night.  You don’t grudge me just a bit of supper, do you?  You’d think it was less trouble for me to have my bit of supper with you all, than in a separate room.  That’s all I’m thinking of—­the trouble——­”

William’s sister turned round on her ladder and faced the room.

“Can’t anyone,” she said desperately, “stop that child talking?”

William’s brother began to descend his ladder.  “I think I can,” he said grimly.

But William had thrown dignity to the winds, and fled.

He went down the hall to the kitchen, where cook hastily interposed herself between him and the table that was laden with cakes and jellies and other delicacies.

“Now, Master William,” she said sharply, “you clear out of here!”

“I don’t want any of your things, cook,” said William, magnificently but untruthfully.  “I only came to see how you were getting on.  That’s all I came for.”

“We’re getting on very well indeed, thank you, Master William,” she said with sarcastic politeness, “but nothing for you till to-morrow, when we can see how much they’ve left.”

She returned to her task of cutting sandwiches.  William, from a respectful distance, surveyed the table with its enticing burden.

“Huh!” he ejaculated bitterly, “think of them sitting and stuffing, and stuffing, and stuffing away at our food all night!  I don’t suppose they’ll leave much—­not if I know the set that lives round here!”