Jimmy looked up from his porridge.

"How was I to know she didn't like insecks?" he said, aggrievedly.
"_I_ like 'em."

William's mother's despair was only tempered by the fact that this
time William was not the culprit. To William also it was a novel
sensation. He realised the advantages of a fellow criminal.

After breakfast peace reigned. William's father went out for a walk
with Robert. The aunts sat round the drawing-room fire talking and
doing crochet-work. In this consists the whole art and duty of
aunthood. _All_ aunts do crochet-work.

They had made careful inquiries about the time of the service.

"You needn't worry," had said William's mother. "It's at 10.30, and
if you go to get ready when the clock in the library strikes ten it
will give you heaps of time."

[Illustration: AROUND THEM LAY, MOST INDECENTLY EXPOSED, THE INTERNAL
ARRANGEMENTS OF THE LIBRARY CLOCK.]

Peace ... calm ... quiet. Mrs. Brown and Ethel in the kitchen
supervising the arrangements for the day. The aunts in the
drawing-room discussing over their crochet-work the terrible way in
which their sisters had brought up their children. That, also, is a
necessary part of aunthood.

Time slipped by happily and peacefully. Then William's mother came