More William Read Free

says it ought
to be. Seems we’ve got to take it all to pieces to get it right. Seems to me the person wot made this clock didn’t know much about clock-making. Seems to me—’
    ‘Be quiet , William!’
    ‘We was be quietin’ ’fore you came in,’ said Jimmy severely. ‘You ’sturbed us.’
    ‘Leave it just as it is, William,’ said his mother.
    ‘You don’t unnerstand ,’ said William with the excitement of the fanatic. ‘The cog wheel an’ the ratchet ought to be put on the arbor different. See, this is
the cog wheel. Well, it oughtn’t to be like wot it was. It was put on all wrong. Well, we was mendin’ it. An’ we was doin’ it for you ,’ he ended,
bitterly, ‘jus’ to help an’ – to – to make other folks happy. It makes folks happy havin’ clocks goin’ right, anyone would think. But if you want your clocks put together wrong, I don’t care.’
    He picked up his book and walked proudly from the room followed by the admiring Jimmy.
    ‘William,’ said Aunt Lucy patiently, as he passed, ‘I don’t want to say anything unkind, and I hope you won’t remember all your life that you have completely spoilt
this Christmas Day for me.’
    ‘Oh, dear!’ murmured Aunt Jane, sadly.
    William, with a look before which she should have sunk into the earth, answered shortly that he didn’t think he would.
    During the midday dinner the grown-ups, as is the foolish fashion of grown-ups, wasted much valuable time in the discussion of such futilities as the weather and the political state of the
nation. Aunt Lucy was still suffering and aggrieved.
    ‘I can go this evening, of course,’ she said, ‘but it’s not quite the same. The morning service is different. Yes, please, dear – and stuffing. Yes,
I’ll have a little more turkey, too. And, of course, the Vicar may not preach tonight. That makes such a difference. The gravy on the potatoes, please. It’s almost the first Christmas
I’ve not been in the morning. It seems quite to have spoilt the day for me.’
    She bent on William a glance of gentle reproach. William was quite capable of meeting adequately that or any other glance, but at present he was too busy for minor hostilities. He was extremely busy. He was doing his utmost to do full justice to a meal that only happens once a year.
    ‘William,’ said Barbara pleasantly, ‘I can dweam. Can you?’
    He made no answer.
    ‘Answer your cousin, William,’ said his mother.
    He swallowed, then spoke plaintively. ‘You always say not to talk with my mouth full,’ he said.
    ‘You could speak when you’ve finished the mouthful.’
    ‘Dear, dear !’ murmured Aunt Jane.
    This was Aunt Jane’s usual contribution to any conversation.
    He looked coldly at the three pairs of horrified aunts’ eyes around him, then placidly continued his meal.
    Mrs Brown hastily changed the subject of conversation. The art of combining the duties of mother and hostess is sometimes a difficult one.
    Christmas afternoon is a time of rest. The three aunts withdrew from public life. Aunt Lucy found a book of sermons in the library and retired to her bedroom with it.
    ‘It’s the next best thing, I think,’ she said with a sad glance at William.
    William was beginning definitely to dislike Aunt Lucy.
    ‘Please’m,’ said the cook an hour later, ‘the mincing machine’s disappeared.’
    ‘Disappeared?’ said William’s mother, raising her hand to her head.
    ‘Clean gone’m. ’Ow’m I to get the supper’m? You said as ’ow I could get it done this afternoon so as to go to church this evening. I can’t do nuffink
with the mincing machine gone.’
    ‘I’ll come and look.’
    They searched every corner of the kitchen, then William’s mother had an idea. William’s mother had not been William’s mother for eleven years without learning many things. She
went wearily up to William’s bedroom.
    William was sitting on the floor. Open beside him was Things a Boy Can Do. Around him lay