It was worth trying, anyway.
He set off cheerfully down the drive. He decided to stay away for
lunch and tea and supper, and to return at dusk to a penitent,
conscience-stricken family.
He first made his way to a neighbouring wood, where he arranged a pile
of twigs for a fire, but they refused to light, even with the aid of
the match that William found adhering to a piece of putty in the
recess of one of his pockets.
Slightly dispirited, he turned his attention to his handkerchief and
tied knots in it till it gave way under the strain. William's
handkerchiefs, being regularly used to perform the functions of
blotting paper among other duties not generally entrusted to
handkerchiefs, were always in the last stages of decrepitude.
He felt rather bored and began to wonder whether it was lunch-time or
not.
He then "scouted" the wood and by his wood lore traced three distinct
savage tribes' passage through the wood and found the tracks of
several elephants. He engaged in deadly warfare with about
half-a-dozen lions, then tired of the sport. It must be about
lunch-time. He could imagine Ethel, his sister, hunting for him wildly
high and low with growing pangs of remorse. She'd wish she'd made less
fuss over that old scarf. His mother would recall the scene over the
pan and her heart would fail her. His father would think with shame
of his conduct in the matter of the bugle.
"Poor William! How cruel we were! How different we shall be if only he
comes home .
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