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Crompton, Richmal, 1890-1969

"More William"

They're _walkin'_."
His voice was a scream of ecstasy. He took them up and returned them
to their pocket. From another he drew out a wriggling mass.
"Wood-lice!" he explained, casually. "Got worms in 'nother pocket."
He returned the wood-lice to his pocket except one, which he held
between a finger and thumb laid thoughtfully against his lip. "Want
wopses now. You get 'em for me."
William roused himself from his bewilderment.
"How--how do you catch 'em?" he said.
"Wings," replied Thomas. "Get hold of their wings an' they don't
sting. Sometimes they do, though," he added casually. "Then your hands
go big."
A wasp settled near him, and very neatly the young naturalist picked
him up and put him in his paper prison.
"Now you get one," he ordered William.
William determined not to be outshone by this minute but dauntless
stranger. As a wasp obligingly settled on a flower near him, he put
out his hand, only to withdraw it with a yell of pain and apply it to
his mouth.
"Oo--ou!" he said. "Crumbs!"
Thomas emitted a peal of laughter.
"You stung?" he said. "Did it sting you? _Funny_!"
William's expression of rage and pain was exquisite to him.
"Come on, boy!" he ordered at last. "Let's go somewhere else."
William's bewildered dignity made a last stand.
"_You_ can go," he said. "I'm playin' by myself."
"All right!" agreed Thomas. "You play by you'self an' me play by
myself, an' we'll be together--playin' by ourselves.


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