tly, "a house is always full of noises
at night. Basket chairs creaking----"

Mr. Brown's face grew purple.

"_Basket chairs----!_" he exploded, violently, but allowed himself to be
led unresisting from the room.

William finished his bed-making with his usual frown of concentration,
then, lying down, fell at once into the deep sleep of childish
innocence.

But Cousin Mildred was lying awake, a blissful smile upon her lips.
She, too, was now one of the elect, the chosen. Her rather deaf ears
had caught the sound of supernatural thunder as her ghostly visitant
departed, and she had beamed with ecstatic joy.

"Honk," she murmured, dreamily. "Honk, Yonk, Ponk."

* * * * *

William felt rather tired the next evening. Cousin Mildred had
departed leaving him a handsome present of a large box of chocolates.
William had consumed these with undue haste in view of possible
maternal interference. His broken night was telling upon his spirits.
He felt distinctly depressed and saw the world through jaundiced
eyes. He sat in the shrubbery, his chin in his hand, staring moodily
at the adoring mongrel, Jumble.

"It's a rotten world," he said, gloomily. "I've took a lot of trouble
over her and she goes and makes me feel sick with chocolates."

Jumble wagged his tail, sympathetically.

CHAPTER VIII

THE MAY KING

William was frankly bored. School always bored him. He disliked facts,
and he disliked being tied down to detail, and he disliked answering
questions. As a politician a great future would have lain before him.
William attended a mixed school because his parents hoped that
feminine influence might have a mellowing effect upon his character.
As yet the mellowing was not apparent. He was roused from his
day-dreams by a change in the voice of Miss Dewhurst, his form
mistress. It was evident that she was not talking about the exports of
England (a subject in which William took little interest) any longer.

"Children," she said brightly. "I want to have a little May Queen for
the first of May. The rest of you must be her courtiers. I want you
all to vote to-morrow. Put down on a piece of paper the name of the
little girl you think would make the sweetest little Queen, and the
rest of you shall be her swains and maidens."

"We're goin' to have a May Queen," remarked William to his family at
dinner, "an' I'm goin' to be a swain."

His interest died down considerably when he disc