“Here, I’ll help!” he said, and laid a finger on the side.  His presence rather hindered their efforts, but they succeeded in spite of it.  William, however, was under the impression that his strength alone had wrought the miracle.  He put on an outrageous swagger.

“I’m jolly strong,” he confided to Mr. Blake.  “I’m stronger than most folk.”

Here the removers decided that it was time for their midday repast and retired to consume it in the shady back garden.  All except Mr. Jones, who said he would go down the road for a drink of lemonade.  William said that there was lemonade in the larder and offered to fetch it, but Mr. Jones said hastily that he wanted a special sort.  He had to be very particular what sort of lemonade he drank.

Mrs. Brown and Ethel sat down to a scratch meal in the library.  William followed his two new friends wistfully into the garden.

“William!  Come to lunch!” called Mrs. Brown.

“Oh, leave him alone, Mother,” pleaded Ethel.  “Let us have a little peace.”

But William did not absent himself for long.

“I want a red handkerchief,” he demanded loudly from the hall.

There was no response.

He appeared in the doorway.

“I say, I want a red handkerchief.  Have you gotter red handkerchief, Mother?”

“No, dear.”

“Have you Ethel?”

“NO!”

“All right,” said William aggrievedly.  “You needn’t get mad, need you?  I’m only askin’ for a red handkerchief.  I don’t want a red handkerchief off you if you haven’t got it, do I?”

“William, go away and shut the door.”

William obeyed.  Peace reigned throughout the house and garden for the next half-hour.  Then Mrs. Brown’s conscience began to prick her.

“William must have something to eat, dear.  Do go and find him.”

Ethel went out to the back garden.  A scene of happy restfulness met her gaze.  Mr. Blake reclined against one tree consuming bread and cheese, while a red handkerchief covered his knees.  Mr. Johnson reclined against another tree, also consuming bread and cheese, while a red handkerchief covered his knees.  William leant against a third tree consuming a little heap of scraps collected from the larder, while on his knees also reposed what was apparently a red handkerchief.  Jumble sat in the middle catching with nimble, snapping jaws dainties flung to him from time to time by his circle of admirers.

Ethel advanced nearer and inspected William’s red handkerchief with dawning horror in her face.  Then she gave a scream.

“William, that’s my silk scarf!  It was for a hat.  I’ve only just bought it.  Oh, mother, do do something to William!  He’s taken my new silk scarf—­the one I’d got to trim my Leghorn.  He’s the most awful boy.  I don’t think——­”

Mrs. Brown came out hastily to pacify her.  William handed the silk scarf back to its rightful owner.