The day of the performance approached, and there arose some little trouble about William’s costume.  If the wearing of the dining-room hearth-rug had been forbidden by Authority it would have at once become the dearest wish of William’s heart and a thing to be accomplished at all costs.  But, because Authority decreed that that should be William’s official costume as the Wolf, William at once began to find insuperable difficulties.

“It’s a dirty ole thing, all dust and bits of black hair come off it on me.  I don’t think it looks like a wolf.  Well, if I’ve gotter be a wolf folks might just as well know what I am.  This looks like as if it came off a black sheep or sumthin’.  You don’t want folks to think I’m a sheep ’stead of a wolf, do you?  You don’t want me to be made look ridiclus before all these folks, do you?”

He was slightly mollified by their promise to hire a wolf’s head for him.  He practised wolf’s howlings (though these had no part in Mrs. de Vere Carter’s play) at night in his room till he drove his family almost beyond the bounds of sanity.

Mrs. de Vere Carter had hired the Village Hall for the performance, and the proceeds were to go to a local charity.

On the night of the play the Hall was packed, and Mrs. de Vere Carter was in a flutter of excitement and importance.

“Yes, the dear children are splendid, and they look beautiful!  We’ve all worked so hard.  Yes, entirely my own composition.  I only hope that William Brown won’t murder my poetry as he does at rehearsals.”

The curtain went up.

The scene was a wood, as was evident from a few small branches of trees placed here and there at intervals on the stage.

Joan, in a white dress and red cloak, entered and began to speak, quickly and breathlessly, stressing every word with impartial regularity.

    “A little maid am I—­Red Riding-Hood. 
     My journey lies along this dark, thick wood. 
     Within my basket is a little jar
     Of jam—­a present for my grand-mamma.”

Then Cuthbert entered—­a Prince in white satin with a blue sash.  There was a rapt murmur of admiration in the audience as he made his appearance.

William waited impatiently and uneasily behind the scenes.  His wolf’s head was very hot.  One of the eye-holes was beyond his range of vision; through the other he had a somewhat prescribed view of what went on around him.  He had been pinned tightly into the dining-room hearth-rug, his arms pinioned down by his side.  He was distinctly uncomfortable.

At last his cue came.

Red Riding-Hood and the Prince parted after a short conversation in which their acquaintance made rapid strides, and at the end of which the Prince said casually as he turned to go: 

    “So sweet a maid have I never seen,
     Ere long I hope to make her my wife and queen.”