that Joan Clive, the little girl who lived next door, was having a
strange cousin to stay for three weeks. All his life, William had
accepted Joan's adoration and homage with condescending indifference,
but he did not like to imagine a possible rival.

"What's he _coming_ for?" he demanded with an ungracious scowl,
perched uncomfortably and dangerously on the high wall that separated
the two gardens and glaring down at Joan. "What's he comin' _for_, any
way?"

"'Cause mother's invited him," explained Joan simply, with a shake of
her golden curls. "He's called Cuthbert. She says he's a sweet little
boy."

"_Sweet!_" echoed William in a tone of exaggerated horror. "Ugh!"

"Well," said Joan, with the smallest note of indignation in her voice,
"you needn't play with him if you don't like."

"_Me?_ Play? With _him_?" scowled William as if he could not believe
his ears. "I'm not likely to go playin' with a kid like wot _he'll_
be!"

Joan raised aggrieved blue eyes.

"You're a _horrid_ boy sometimes, William!" she said. "Any way, I
shall have him to play with soon."

It was the first time he had received anything but admiration from
her.