"Leth thit down an' I'll tell you fairy thorieth," said Cuthbert.

A loud snort from inside the wall just by his ear startled him, and he
clutched Joan's arm.

"What'th that?" he said.

There were sounds of clambering feet on the other side of the wall,
then William's grimy countenance appeared.

"Hello, Joan!" he said, ignoring the stranger.

Joan's eyes brightened.

"Come and play with us, William," she begged.

"We don't want dirty little boyth," murmured Cuthbert fastidiously.
William could not, with justice, have objected to the epithet. He had
spent the last half-hour climbing on to the rafters of the disused
coach-house, and dust and cobwebs adorned his face and hair.

"He's _always_ like that," explained Joan, carelessly.

By this time William had thought of a suitable rejoinder.

"All right," he jeered, "don't look at me then. Go on tellin' fairy
_thorieth_."

Cuthbert flushed angrily.