His heated countenance beamed with pride.
For a moment Cuthbert was nonplussed. Then he said scornfully:
"Don't he look a _fright_, Joan?" Joan giggled.
But William was wholly engrossed in his self-imposed task of "showing
them." He led them to the bottom of the garden, where a small stream
(now almost dry) disappeared into a narrow tunnel to flow under the
road and reappear in the field at the other side.
"You can't crawl through that," challenged William, "you can't _do_
it. I've _done_ it, done it often. I bet _you_ can't. I bet you can't
get halfway. I----"
"Well, _do_ it, then!" jeered Cuthbert.
William, on all fours, disappeared into the mud and slime of the small
round aperture. Joan clasped her hands, and even Cuthbert was secretly
impressed. They stood in silence. At intervals William's muffled voice
came from the tunnel.
"It's jolly muddy, too, I can _tell_ you."
"I've caught a frog! I say, I've caught a frog!"
"Crumbs! It's got away!"
"It's nearly quicksands here."
"If I tried I could nearly _drown_ here!"
At last, through the hedge, they saw him emerge in the field across
the road. He swaggered across to them aglow with his own heroism. As
he entered the gate he was rewarded by the old light of adoration in
Joan's blue eyes, but on full sight of him it quickly turned to
consternation. His appearance was beyond description. There was a
malicious smile on Cuthbert's face.
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