Vere Carter slunk away realistically, and the sight of it
brought momentary delight to William's weary soul. Otherwise the
rehearsals were not far removed from torture to him. The thought of
being a wolf had at first attracted him, but actually a wolf character
who had to repeat Mrs. de Vere Carter's meaningless couplets and be
worsted at every turn by the smiling Cuthbert, who was forced to
watch from behind the scenes the fond embraces of Cuthbert and Joan,
galled his proud spirit unspeakably. Moreover Cuthbert monopolised her
both before and after the rehearsals.

"Come away, Joan, he'th prob'bly all over coal dutht and all of a
meth."

The continued presence of unsympathetic elders prevented his proper
avenging of such insults.

The day of the performance approached, and there arose some little
trouble about William's costume. If the wearing of the dining-room
hearth-rug had been forbidden by Authority it would have at once
become the dearest wish of William's heart and a thing to be
accomplished at all costs. But, because Authority decreed that that
should be William's official costume as the Wolf, William at once
began to find insuperable difficulties.

"It's a dirty ole thing, all dust and bits of black hair come off it
on me. I don't think it _looks_ like a wolf. Well, if I've gotter be a
wolf folks might just as well _know_ what I am. This looks like as if
it came off a black sheep or sumthin'. You don't want folks to think
I'm a _sheep_ 'stead of a _wolf_, do you? You don't want me to be made
look ridiclus before all these folks, do you?"

He was slightly mollified by their promise to hire a wolf's head for
him. He practised wolf's howlings (though these had no part in Mrs. de
Vere Carter's play) at night in his room till he drove his family
almost beyond the bounds of sanity.

Mrs. de Vere Carter had hired the Village Hall for the performance,
and the proceeds were to go to a local charity.

On the night of the play the Hall was packed, and Mrs. de Vere Carter
was in a flutter of excitement and importance.

"Yes, the dear children are splendid, and they look _beautiful_! We've
all worked so _hard_. Yes, entirely my own composition. I only hope
that William Brown won't _murder_ my poetry as he does at rehearsals."

The curtain went up.

The scene was a wood, as was evident from a few small branches of
trees placed here and there at intervals on the stage.

Joan, in a white dress and red cloak, e