oy so aimlessly the precious hours of his youth might be there.
They would certainly be tactless enough to question him as he passed
the door. Then he joined the main road.

The main road was empty except for a caravan--a caravan gaily painted
in red and yellow. It had little lace curtains at the window. It was
altogether a most fascinating caravan. No one seemed to be near it.
William looked through the windows. There was a kind of dresser with
crockery hanging from it, a small table and a little oil stove. The
further part was curtained off but no sound came from it, so that it
was presumably empty too. William wandered round to inspect the
quadruped in front. It appeared to be a mule--a mule with a jaundiced
view of life. It rolled a sad eye towards William, then with a deep
sigh returned to its contemplation of the landscape. William gazed
upon caravan and steed fascinated. Never, in his future life of noble
merit, would he be able to annex a caravan. It was his last chance. No
one was about. He could pretend that he had mistaken it for his own
caravan or had got on to it by mistake or--or anything. Conscience
stirred faintly in his breast, but he silenced it sternly. Conscience
was to rule him for the rest of his life and it could jolly well let
him alone _this_ day. With some difficulty he climbed on to the
driver's seat, took the reins, said "Gee-up" to the melancholy mule,
and the whole equipage with a jolt and faint rattle set out along the
road.

William did not know how to drive, but it did not seem to matter. The
mule ambled along and William, high up on the driver's seat, the reins
held with ostentatious carelessness in one hand, the whip poised
lightly in the other was in the seventh heaven of bliss. He was
driving a caravan. He was driving a caravan. He was driving a caravan.
The very telegraph posts seemed to gape with envy and admiration as
he passed. What ultimately he was going to do with his caravan he
neither knew nor cared. All that mattered was, it was a bright sunny
morning, and all the others were in school, and he was driving a red
and yellow caravan along the high road. The birds seemed to be singing
a paeon of praise to him. He was intoxicated with pride. It was _his_
caravan, _his_ road, _his_ world. Carelessly he flicked the mule with
the whip. There are several explanations of what happened then. The
mule may not have been used to the whip; a wasp may have just stung
him at that particul