Free William Again by Richmal Crompton

group of children clustered round the gate and watched him. The door was opened by a housemaid. The thin man disappeared inside. The door was
shut.
    ‘Are we going to hang round him all the time?’ asked William discontentedly. ‘Won’t be any fun – not much,’ he added proudly, after a slight
pause.
    ‘Well, ’e knows the wye an’ we don’t,’ said Elbert.
    ‘I do,’ said William. ‘You come with me – quick – afore he comes out.’
    They followed William silently round the back of the house and across a field. From the other end of the field they had a glimpse of the tall man coming out of the house, taking off his hat with
a polite bow, then standing at the gate and looking round in bewildered amazement. Then they disappeared over a stile into another road. Here a small person at the rear of the procession set up a
plaintive cry.
    ‘Oh – oo – oo,’ she sobbed, ‘I’m tahred of the country Oo – oo – oo, I want to gow ’owm.’
    Eglantine came to the rescue.
    ‘If you don’t shut up makin’ that noise, Christine ’Awkins,’ she said, ‘a cow or sumphin’ll eat you up. Yer never knows in the country.’
    The sound ceased as by magic. William led his friends along the road. At a pair of iron gates leading past a lodge into a winding drive, Eglantine stopped.
    ‘I’m tahred of walkin’ along this ’ere road,’ she announced. ‘Let’s go in here.’
    Even William was aghast.
    ‘It’s someone’s garden,’ he explained.
    ‘Fought yer could go anywhere yer loiked in the country,’ said Eglantine aggrievedly. ‘That’s wot they said, anyway. They said yer could go anywheres yer loiked in the
country. Dunno whoi we cime,’ she ended wearily.
    The shrill wail rose again from the back of the crowd.
    ‘Oo – oo – oo – oo, I’m tahred of the country. I want to gow ’owm.’
    Eglantine entered the gate determinedly.
    ‘Come orn!’ she said.
    ‘They’ll turn us out,’ said William.
    Eglantine squared her thin shoulders.
    ‘Let ’em jes’ troi turnin’ me aht,’ she said.
    ‘Not much, ’ murmured William proudly.
    They passed with no opposition up the first part of the drive. Then Eglantine saw a hedge with a gate in it and marshalled her party through that. Within they saw a lawn, some gardens, and a
fountain.
    ‘Looks orl roight,’ commented Eglantine loftily.
    A young man rose languidly from a hammock in the trees.
    ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said politely.
    ‘Grarnted,’ said Eglantine, not to be outdone in politeness.
    ‘Can I do anything for you?’ said the young man.
    ‘We’re St Luke’s and St Mary’s,’ explained Eglantine importantly.
    ‘I see,’ said the young man. ‘You, I presume are a St Mary, and he of the horsey headgear is a St Luke.’
    ‘ ’Im?’ said Eglantine, pointing at William, ‘ ’e’s a horphin.’
    The young man adjusted a monocle.
    ‘Really,’ he said, ‘how intensely interesting!’
    ‘We’ve come into the country fer a ’oliday,’ went on Eglantine, ‘an’ we jes’ cime in ’ere ter see wot it was loike in ’ere.’
    ‘How extremely kind of you!’ said the young man, ‘I hope you like it.’
    Eglantine surveyed the scene distantly.
    ‘Wiv a band an’ some swings an’ a hice cream cart, it’d be orl roight,’ she admitted.
    The young man sighed.
    ‘I suppose so,’ he said.
    Most of the children were already making the best of their opportunities. Some were chasing butterflies, some picking flowers, some had taken off shoes and stockings and were paddling in the
ornamental pond. The young man watched them rather despondently.
    ‘If I’d known that you were coming,’ he said, ‘I’d have procured something in the way of a band and ice-cream cart.’
    Eglantine again was not to be outdone in politeness. She stood, a curious picture, in her blue dress, white stockings, yellow boots, with her over-frizzed hair standing out around her sharp
little face beneath her feathered hat, and nodded