“No,” said William, turning a purple-stained countenance round scornfully.

It must be nearly night.  He didn’t want to be too hard on them, to make his mother ill or anything.  He wanted to be as kind as possible.  He’d forgive them at once when he got home.  He’d ask for one or two things he wanted, as well as the new bugle.  A new penknife, and an engine with a real boiler.

“Waffor does it not like me?” persisted Thomas.

William was silent.  Question and questioner were beneath contempt.

“Waffor does it not like me?” he shouted stridently.

“Flies don’t like people, silly.”

“Waffor not?” retorted Thomas.

“They don’t know anything about them.”

“Well, I’ll tell it about me.  My name’s Thomas,” he said to the fly politely.  “Now does it like me?”

William groaned.  But the fly had now vanished, and Thomas once more grew impatient.

“Come on!” he said.  “Come on an’ find sings for me.”

William’s manly spirit was by this time so far broken that he followed his new acquaintance to a neighbouring pond, growling threateningly but impotently.

“Now,” commanded his small tyrant, “take off your boots an’ stockings an’ go an’ find things for me.”

“Take off yours,” growled William, “an’ find things for yourself.”

“No,” said Thomas, “crockerdiles might be there an’ bite my toes.  An pittanopotamuses might be there.  If you don’t go in, I’ll scream an’ scream an’ scream.”

William went in.

He walked gingerly about the muddy pond.  Thomas watched him critically from the bank.

“I don’t like your hair,” he said confidingly.

William growled.

He caught various small swimming objects in the tin, and brought them to the bank for inspection.

“I want more’n that,” said Thomas calmly.

“Well, you won’t get it,” retorted William.

He began to put on his boots and stockings, wondering desperately how to rid himself of his unwanted companion.  But Fate solved the problem.  With a loud cry a woman came running down the path.

“Tommy,” she said.  “My little darling Tommy.  I thought you were lost!” She turned furiously to William.  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she said.  “A great boy of your age leading a little child like this into mischief!  If his father was here, he’d show you.  You ought to know better!  And you a scout.”

William gasped.

[Illustration:  SHE TURNED FURIOUSLY TO WILLIAM.  “YOU OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF,” SHE SAID.]

“Well!” he said.  “An’ I’ve bin doin’ deeds of kindness on him all morning.  I’ve——­”

She turned away indignantly, holding Thomas’s hand.

“You’re never to go with that nasty rough boy again, darling,” she said.

“Got lots of wopses an’ some fishes,” murmured Thomas contentedly.