r bored and began to wonder whether it was lunch-time or
not.

He then "scouted" the wood and by his wood lore traced three distinct
savage tribes' passage through the wood and found the tracks of
several elephants. He engaged in deadly warfare with about
half-a-dozen lions, then tired of the sport. It must be about
lunch-time. He could imagine Ethel, his sister, hunting for him wildly
high and low with growing pangs of remorse. She'd wish she'd made less
fuss over that old scarf. His mother would recall the scene over the
pan and her heart would fail her. His father would think with shame
of his conduct in the matter of the bugle.

"Poor William! How cruel we were! How different we shall be if only he
comes home ...!"

He could almost hear the words. Perhaps his mother was weeping now.
His father--wild-eyed and white-lipped--was pacing his study, waiting
for news, eager to atone for his unkindness to his missing son.
Perhaps he had the bugle on the table ready to give back to him.
Perhaps he'd even bought him a new one.

He imagined the scene of his return. He would be nobly forgiving. He
would accept the gift of the new bugle without a word of reproach. His
heart thrilled at the thought of it.

He was getting jolly hungry. It must be after lunch-time. But it would
spoil it all to go home too early.

Here he caught sight of a minute figure regarding him with a steady
gaze and holding a paper bag in one hand.

William stared down at him.

"Wot you dressed up like that for?" said the apparition, with a touch
of scorn in his voice.

William looked down at his sacred uniform and scowled. "I'm a scout,"
he said loftily.

"'Cout?" repeated the apparition, with an air of polite boredom.
"Wot's your name?"

"William."

"Mine's Thomas. Will you catch me a wopse? Look at my wopses!"

He opened the bag slightly and William caught sight of a crowd of
wasps buzzing about inside the bag.

"Want more," demanded the infant. "Want lots more. Look. Snells!"

He brought out a handful of snails from a miniature pocket, and put
them on the ground.

"Watch 'em put their horns out! Watch 'em walk. Look! They're
_walkin'_. 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 fi