“I told you that if I caught you playing monkey tricks in my room again----” he began threateningly, glancing suspiciously at the bed, in the “apple-pie” arrangements of which William was an expert. “I’m not, Robert,” said William with disarming innocence. “Honest I’m not. I jus’ wanted to borrow a handkerchief. I thought you wun’t mind lendin’ me a handkerchief.” “Well, I would,” said Robert shortly, “so you can jolly well clear out.” “It was this one I thought you wun’t mind lendin’ me,” said William. “I wun’t take one of your nice white ones, but I thought you wun’t mind me having this ole coloured dirty-looking one.” “Did you? Well, give it back to me.” Reluctantly William handed it back to Robert. “How much’ll you give it me for?” he said shortly. “Well, how much have you?” said Robert ruthlessly. “Nothin’--not jus’ at present,” admitted William. “But I’d _do_ something for you for it. I’d do anythin’ you want done for it. You just tell me what to do for it, an’ I’ll _do_ it.” “Well, you can--you can get the Bishop’s handkerchief for me, and then I’ll give mine to you.” The trouble with Robert was that he imagined himself a wit. The trouble with William was that he took things literally. * * * * * The Bishop was expected in the village the next day. It was the great event of the summer. He was a distant relation of the Vicar’s. He was to open the Sale of Work, address a large meeting on temperance, spend the night at the vicarage, and depart the next morning. The Bishop was a fatherly, simple-minded old man of seventy. He enjoyed the Sale of Work except for one thing. Wherever he looked he met the gaze of a freckled untidy frowning small boy. He could not understand it. The boy seemed to be everywhere. The boy seemed to follow him about. He came to the conclusion that it must be his imagination, but it made him feel vaguely uneasy. Then he addressed the meeting on Temperance, his audience consisting chiefly of adults. But, in the very front seat, the same earnest frowning boy fixed him with a determined gaze. When the Bishop first encountered this gaze he became slightly disconcerted, and lost his place in his notes. Then he tried to forget the disturbing presence and address his remarks to the middle of the hall. But there was something hypnotic in the small boy’s gaze. In the end the Bishop yielded to it. He fixed his eyes obediently upon William. He harangued William earnestly and forcibly upon the necessity of self-control and the effect of alcohol upon the liver. And William returned his gaze unblinkingly. After the meeting William wandered down the road to the Vicarage. He pondered gloomily over his wasted afternoon. Fate had not thrown the Bishop’s handkerchief in his path. But he did not yet despair. On the way he met Ginger. Ginger drew out his interminable coloured handkerchief and shook it proudly.