He had to be
very particular what sort of lemonade he drank.
Mrs. Brown and Ethel sat down to a scratch meal in the library.
William followed his two new friends wistfully into the garden.
"William! Come to lunch!" called Mrs. Brown.
"Oh, leave him alone, Mother," pleaded Ethel. "Let us have a little
peace."
But William did not absent himself for long.
"I want a red handkerchief," he demanded loudly from the hall.
There was no response.
He appeared in the doorway.
"I say, I want a red handkerchief. Have you gotter red handkerchief,
Mother?"
"No, dear."
"Have you Ethel?"
"NO!"
"All right," said William aggrievedly. "You needn't get mad, need you?
I'm only askin' for a red handkerchief. I don't want a red
handkerchief off you if you haven't _got_ it, do I?"
"William, go _away_ and shut the door."
William obeyed. Peace reigned throughout the house and garden for the
next half-hour. Then Mrs. Brown's conscience began to prick her.
"William must have something to eat, dear. Do go and find him."
Ethel went out to the back garden. A scene of happy restfulness met
her gaze. Mr. Blake reclined against one tree consuming bread and
cheese, while a red handkerchief covered his knees. Mr. Johnson
reclined against another tree, also consuming bread and cheese, while
a red handkerchief covered his knees. William leant against a third
tree consuming a little heap of scraps collected from the larder,
while on his knees also reposed what was apparently a red
handkerchief.
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