all. You _said_ you didn't want 'em trampin' in
dirty boots!"

It took a quarter of an hour to replace them. Over the fragments of a
blue delf bowl Mrs. Brown sighed deeply.

"I wish you'd broken _anything_ but this, William."

"Well," he excused himself, "you said things _do_ get broken removin'.
You said so _yourself_! I didn't break it on purpose. It jus' got
broken removin'."

At this point the removers arrived.

There were three of them. One was very fat and jovial, and one was
thin and harassed-looking, and a third wore a sheepish smile and
walked with a slightly unsteady gait. They made profuse apologies for
their lateness.

"You'd better begin with the dining-room," said Mrs. Brown. "Will you
pack the china first? William, get out of the _way_!"

She left them packing, assisted by William. William carried the things
to them from the sideboard cupboards.

"What's your names?" he asked, as he stumbled over a glass bowl that
he had inadvertently left on the hearth-rug. His progress was further
delayed while he conscientiously picked up the fragments. "Things _do_
get broken removin'," he murmured.

"Mine is Mister Blake and 'is is Mister Johnson, and 'is is Mister
Jones."

"Which is Mr. Jones? The one that walks funny?"

They shook with herculean laughter, so much so that a china cream jug
slipped from Mr. Blake's fingers and lay in innumerable pieces round
his boot. He kicked it carelessly aside.

"Yus," he said, bending anew to his task, "'im wot walks funny."

"Why's he walk funny?" persisted William. "Has he hurt his legs?"

"Yus," said Blake with a wink. "'E 'urt 'em at the Blue Cow comin'
'ere."

Mr. Jones' sheepish smile broadened into a guffaw.

"Well, you rest," said William sympathetically. "You lie down on the
sofa an' rest. _I'll_ help, so's you needn't do _anything_!"

Mr. Jones grew hilarious.

"Come on!" he said. "My eye! This young gent's all _roight_, 'e is.
You lie down an' rest, 'e says! Well, 'ere goes!"

To the huge delight of his companions, he stretched himself at length
upon the chesterfield and closed his eyes. William surveyed him with
pleasure.

"That's right," he said. "I'll--I'll show you my dog when your legs
are better. I've gotter _fine_ dog!"

"What sort of a dog?" said Mr. Blake, resting from his labours to ask
the question.

"He's no _partic'lar_ sort of a dog," said William honestly, "but he's
a jolly fine dog. You should see him do tricks!"

[Illu