William’s heart sank.  He had forgotten the fact that his father generally returned from his office about this time.

William’s father came into the hall and glanced at his youngest offspring suspiciously.

“Hello!” he said, “where are you going?”

William cleared his throat nervously.

“Me?” he questioned lightly.  “Oh, I was jus’—­jus’ goin’ a little walk up the road before I went to bed.  That’s all I was goin’ to do, father.”

Flop!  A large segment of the cream blanc-mange had disintegrated itself from the fast-melting mass, and, evading William’s encircling arm, had fallen on to the floor at his feet.  With praiseworthy presence of mind William promptly stepped on to it and covered it with his feet.  William’s father turned round quickly from the stand where he was replacing his walking stick.

“What was that?”

William looked round the hall absently.  “What, father?”

William’s father now fastened his eyes upon William’s person.

“What have you got under your coat?”

“Where?” said William with apparent surprise.

Then, looking down at the damp excrescence of his coat, as if he noticed it for the first time, “Oh, that!” with a mirthless smile.  “Do you mean that?  Oh, that’s jus’—­jus’ somethin’ I’m takin’ out with me, that’s all.”

Again William’s father grunted.

“Well,” he said, “if you’re going for this walk up the road why on earth don’t you go, instead of standing as if you’d lost the use of your feet?”

William’s father was hanging up his overcoat with his back to William, and the front door was open.  William wanted no second bidding.  He darted out of the door and down the drive, but he was just in time to hear the thud of a falling body, and to hear a muttered curse as the Head of the House entered the dining-room feet first on a long slide of some white, glutinous substance.

“Oh, crumbs!” gasped William as he ran.

The little girl next door was sitting in the summer-house, armed with a spoon, when William arrived.  His precious burden had now saturated his shirt and was striking cold and damp on his chest.  He drew it from his coat and displayed it proudly.  It had certainly lost its pristine, white, rounded appearance.  The marks of the cat’s licks were very evident; grime from William’s coat adhered to its surface; it wobbled limply over the soap dish, but the little girl’s eyes sparkled as she saw it.

“Oh, William, I never thought you really would!  Oh, you are wonderful!  And I had it!”

“What?”

“Rice-mould for supper, but I didn’t mind, because I thought—­I hoped, you’d come with it.  Oh, William, you are a nice boy!”

William glowed with pride.

“William!” bellowed an irate voice from William’s front door.

William knew that voice.  It was the voice of the male parent who has stood all he’s jolly well going to stand from that kid, and is out for vengeance.  They’d got to the pears!  Oh, crumbs!  They’d got to the pears!  And even the thought of Nemesis to come could not dull for William the bliss of that vision.