At this moment a well-known voice was heard in the recesses of the van, behind the piano and sideboard and hat-stand.
"Hey! let me out! What you've gone blockin' up the van for? I can't get out!"
There was a horror-stricken silence. Then Ethel said sharply:
"What did you go _in_ for?"
The mysterious voice came again with a note of irritability.
"Well, I was _restin'_. I mus' have some rest, mustn't I? I've been helpin' all mornin'."
"Well, couldn't you _see_ we were putting things in?"
The unseen presence spoke again.
"No, I can't. I wasn't lookin'!"
"You can't get out, William," said Mrs. Brown desperately. "We can't move everything again. You must just stop there till it's unpacked.
We'll try to push your lunch in to you."
There was determination in the voice that answered, "I want to get out! I'm _going_ to get out!"
There came tumultuous sounds--the sound of the ripping of some material, of the smashing of glass and of William's voice softly ejaculating "Crumbs! that ole lookin' glass gettin' in the way!"
"You'd better take out the piano again," said Mrs. Brown wanly. "It's the only thing to do."
With straining, and efforts, and groans, and a certain amount of destruction, the piano was eventually lowered again to the ground.
Then the sideboard and hat-stand were moved to one side, and finally there emerged from the struggle--William and Jumble. Jumble's coat was covered with little pieces of horsehair, as though from the interior of a chair. William's jersey was torn from shoulder to hem. He looked stern and indignant.
[Illustration: WILLIAM'S JERSEY WAS TORN FROM SHOULDER TO HEM. HE LOOKED STERN AND INDIGNANT.]
"A nice thing to do!" he began bitterly. "Shuttin' me up in that ole van. How d'you expect me to breathe, shut in with ole bits of furniture. Folks can't live without air, can they? A nice thing if you'd found me _dead_!"
Emotion had deprived his audience of speech for the time being.
With a certain amount of dignity he walked past them into the house followed by Jumble.
It took another quarter of an hour to replace the piano. As they were making the final effort William came out of the house.
"Here, _I'll_ help!" he said, and laid a finger on the side. His presence rather hindered their efforts, but they succeeded in spite of it. William, however, was under the impression that his strength alone had wrought the miracle. He put on an outrageous swagger.
"I'm jolly strong," he confided to Mr. Blake. "I'm stronger than most folk."
Here the removers decided that it was time for their midday repast and retired to consume it in the shady back garden. All except Mr. Jones, who said he would go down the road for a drink of lemonade. William said that there was lemonade in the larder and offered to fetch it, but Mr. Jones said hastily that he wanted a special sort. He had to be very particular what sort of lemonade he drank.
Mrs. Brown and Ethel sat down to a scratch meal in the library.
William followed his two new friends wistfully into the garden.
"William! Come to lunch!" called Mrs. Brown.
"Oh, leave him alone, Mother," pleaded Ethel. "Let us have a little peace."
But William did not absent himself for long.
"I want a red handkerchief," he demanded loudly from the hall.
There was no response.
He appeared in the doorway.
"I say, I want a red handkerchief. Have you gotter red handkerchief, Mother?"
"No, dear."
"Have you Ethel?"
"NO!"
"All right," said William aggrievedly. "You needn't get mad, need you?
I'm only askin' for a red handkerchief. I don't want a red handkerchief off you if you haven't _got_ it, do I?"
"William, go _away_ and shut the door."
William obeyed. Peace reigned throughout the house and garden for the next half-hour. Then Mrs. Brown's conscience began to prick her.
"William must have something to eat, dear. Do go and find him."
Ethel went out to the back garden. A scene of happy restfulness met her gaze. Mr. Blake reclined against one tree consuming bread and cheese, while a red handkerchief covered his knees. Mr. Johnson reclined against another tree, also consuming bread and cheese, while a red handkerchief covered his knees. William leant against a third tree consuming a little heap of scraps collected from the larder, while on his knees also reposed what was apparently a red handkerchief. Jumble sat in the middle catching with nimble, snapping jaws dainties flung to him from time to time by his circle of admirers.
Ethel advanced nearer and inspected William's red handkerchief with dawning horror in her face. Then she gave a scream.
"_William_, that's my silk scarf! It was for a hat. I've only just bought it. Oh, mother, do _do_ something to William! He's taken my new silk scarf--the one I'd got to trim my Leghorn. He's the most _awful_ boy. I don't think----"
Mrs. Brown came out hastily to pacify her. William handed the silk scarf back to its rightful owner.
"Well, I'm _sorry_. I _thought_ it was a red handkerchief. It _looked_ like a red handkerchief. Well, how could I _know_ it wasn't a red handkerchief? I've given it her back. It's all right, Jumble's only bit one end of it. And that's only jam what dropped on it. Well, it'll _wash_, won't it? Well, I've said I'm sorry.
"I don't get much _thanks_," William continued bitterly. "Me givin' up my half holiday to helpin' you removin', an' I don't get much _thanks_!"
"Well, William," said Mrs. Brown, "you can go to the new house with the first van. He'll be less in the way there," she confided distractedly to the world in general.
William was delighted with this proposal. At the new house there was a fresh set of men to unload the van, and there was the thrill of making their acquaintance.
Then the front gate was only just painted and bore a notice "Wet Paint." It was, of course, incumbent upon William to test personally the wetness of the paint. His trousers bore testimony to the testing to their last day, in spite of many applications of turpentine. Jumble also tested it, and had in fact to be disconnected with the front gate by means of a pair of scissors. For many weeks the first thing that visitors to the Brown household saw was a little tuft of Jumble's hair adorning the front gate.
William then proceeded to "help" to the utmost of his power. He stumbled up from the van to the house staggering under the weight of a medicine cupboard, and leaving a trail of broken bottles and little pools of medicine behind. Jumble sampled many of the latter and became somewhat thoughtful.
It was found that the door of a small bedroom at the top of the stairs was locked, and this fact (added to Mr. Jones' failure to return from his lemonade) rather impeded the progress of the unpackers.