“Golly!” gasped William, red with excitement.

“William!”

The cry came from somewhere in the sunny garden outside.  William frowned sternly, took another bite of apple, and continued to read.

“Our hero gave a cry of astonishment.”

“Yea, I’d have done that all right,” agreed William.

“William!”

“Oh, shut up!” called William, irritably, thereby revealing his hiding-place.

His grown-up sister, Ethel, appeared in the doorway.

“Mother wants you,” she announced.

“Well, I can’t come.  I’m busy,” said William, coldly, taking a draught of lemonade and returning to his book.

“Cousin Mildred’s come,” continued his sister.

William raised his freckled face from his book.

“Well, I can’t help that, can I?” he said, with the air of one arguing patiently with a lunatic.

Ethel shrugged her shoulders and departed.

“He’s reading some old book in the barn,” he heard her announce, “and he says——­”

[Illustration:  ETHEL APPEARED IN THE DOORWAY.  “MOTHER WANTS YOU,” SHE ANNOUNCED.]

Here he foresaw complications and hastily followed her.

“Well, I’m comin’, aren’t I?” he said, “as fast as I can.”

Cousin Mildred was sitting on the lawn.  She was elderly and very thin and very tall, and she wore a curious, long, shapeless garment of green silk with a golden girdle.

“Dear child!” she murmured, taking the grimy hand that William held out to her in dignified silence.

He was cheered by the sight of tea and hot cakes.

Cousin Mildred ate little but talked much.

“I’m living in hopes of a psychic revelation, dear,” she said to William’s mother. “In hopes! I’ve heard of wonderful experiences, but so far none—­alas!—­have befallen me.  Automatic writing I have tried, but any communication the spirits may have sent me that way remained illegible—­quite illegible.”

She sighed.

William eyed her with scorn while he consumed reckless quantities of hot cakes.

“I would love to have a psychic revelation,” she sighed again.

“Yes, dear,” murmured Mrs. Brown, mystified.  “William, you’ve had enough.”

“Enough?” said William, in surprise.  “Why I’ve only had——­” He decided hastily against exact statistics and in favour of vague generalities.

“I’ve only had hardly any,” he said, aggrievedly.

“You’ve had enough, anyway,” said Mrs. Brown firmly.

The martyr rose, pale but proud.

“Well, can I go then, if I can’t have any more tea?”

“There’s plenty of bread and butter.”

“I don’t want bread and butter,” he said, scornfully.

“Dear child!” murmured Cousin Mildred, vaguely, as he departed.

He returned to the story and lemonade and apple, and stretched himself happily at full length in the shady barn.