'And I suppose they didn't want it mended,' said Oswald. He knew
but too well that grown-up people sometimes like to keep things far
different from what we would, and you catch it if you try to do
otherwise.

'I shouldn't have minded THAT,' Dicky said, 'because I could easily
have taken it all off again if they'd only said so. But the
sillies went and propped up a milk-pan against the window. They
never took the trouble to notice I had mended it. So the wretched
thing pushed the window open all by itself directly they propped it
up, and it tumbled through into the moat, and they are most awfully
waxy. All the men are out in the fields and they haven't any spare
milk-pans. If I were a farmer, I must say I wouldn't stick at an
extra milk-pan or two. Accidents must happen sometimes. I call it
mean.'

Dicky spoke in savage tones. But Oswald was not so unhappy, first
because it wasn't his fault, and next because he is a far-seeing
boy.

'Never mind,' he said kindly. 'Keep your tail up. We'll get the
beastly milk-pan out all right. Come on.' He rushed hastily to
the garden and gave a low, signifying whistle, which the others
know well enough to mean something extra being up.

And when they were all gathered round him he spoke.

'Fellow countrymen,' he said, 'we're going to have a rousing good
time.'