Pluto still sat on the chair by Miss Carrol’s bed, his head hanging dejectedly on to one side, his green eyes gleaming malevolently upward.
‘Now,’ said William in a business-like fashion, ‘let’s start on it. Come on.’
He sat down on the floor with Pluto on his knee and carefully examined him.
‘Here’s where it joins,’ he said and, taking his penknife out of his pocket, began to hack away at the unfortunate Pluto’s coat.
‘I’ve cut its skin a bit,’ he said casually, ‘but I’ll stitch it up all right at the end when I’m stitchin’ up the rest.’
They watched him with eager if slightly apprehensive interest. William always embarked so light-heartedly upon adventures the end of which it was difficult to foresee.
Having made a large hole, he proceeded to pull out some drab-coloured stuffing and finally some screwed-up newspaper.
‘There!’ he said triumphantly. ‘I told you they used newspaper for stuffin’ animals. Stands to reason they do. Now I’ll start puttin’ it back a bit tighter, so it’ll go right up its neck an’ make its head stand up straight. I’ll use the stuffin’ what was in it first an’ then fill up at the end with stuff I’ve brought. I bet she’ll be jolly pleased.’
The others felt less optimistic, but they murmured vague acquiescence.
‘It’s jolly easy,’ went on William airily as he pushed newspaper and stuffing back into Pluto’s gaping void. ‘I bet I’ll set up as an animal stuffer when I’m grown up. You jus’ get a dead animal an’ take its inside out an’ stuff it up with newspaper an’ suchlike. I’ll start with small animals like caterpillars an’ I’ll go on till I’ve got to lions an’ then elephants. I bet I’ll be the best elephant stuffer in the world by the time I’ve finished. You only need a bit more stuffin’ for an elephant than what you do for a caterpillar, that’s all. It’s jolly easy reely . . . There!’
He set the re-stuffed Pluto upon the hearthrug. It lurched tipsily over on to one side.
‘I’ve not got it sittin’ quite straight yet,’ said William. ‘I’ll try’n’ make it a bit flatter.’
The others stared at Pluto in growing dismay.
William had understated the case. Not only had he not got him sitting straight, but he was not straight anywhere. The head lolled even more limply than it had lolled before. The body was a sagging, shapeless mass.
‘He’s worse than he was,’ said Ginger gloomily.
William stepped back to consider his handiwork. Something of his confidence obviously deserted him.
‘Well,’ he admitted thoughtfully, ‘he cert’nly looks a bit queer. I’d better do it again. I ’spect the old stuff’s a bit wore out. I’ll use my straw an’ newspaper.’
He took out the stuffing and set to work again. By the time he had finished, the Outlaws’ expressions of dismay had deepened to horror. Pluto seemed to have lost all semblance of his former self. His head dangled limply, his paws dangled limply, his body was completely shapeless. Even the sinister leer seemed to have left his eyes.
‘It isn’t like anything,’ said Ginger faintly.
‘It’s a bit like a tea-cosy,’ said Douglas.
‘Let’s say we’ve made it into a tea-cosy for her Christmas present,’ suggested Henry.
‘No, I’ll have another shot,’ said William in a rather small voice. Even William was dismayed by the results of his work. ‘P’raps stuffin’s not reely so easy. P’raps it’s the sort of thing you’ve gotter learn. I wish now I’d practised a bit first an’ worked up to it gradual.’
He took out the stuffing and examined Pluto’s skin critically.
‘I don’t think it was ever a very good shaped cat even when it was alive,’ he said. ‘I bet I could have stuffed a good shaped cat all right.’
It was at this moment when William was sitting surrounded by newspaper, holding Pluto’s empty and bedraggled skin in his hand, that Miss Carrol entered her bedroom. Intent upon their task, the Outlaws had forgotten the time, and their hostess had now returned from her tea-party. She stood and gazed at the scene, open-eyed with amazement. William tried to explain, but his explanation lacked the confidence and volubility that usually characterised William’s explanations.
‘Well, you see,’ he stammered, ‘we were doin’ it as a sort of s’prise for you – stuffin’ this ole cat, so’s its head would stick up. It’s taken us a bit longer than we thought. Well, we’ve not quite finished yet’s a matter of fact. I’m jus’ going to have another shot. I’m—’
His voice died away, as, looking at Pluto, he faced complete and overwhelming failure. ‘We’ll save up all our money – when we get any,’ he went on, ‘an’ have it done for you by a proper stuffer.’
Miss Carrol rose to the occasion. She looked distressed and unhappy – Pluto had been her daily companion and friend for so many years – but she showed no anger. She did not even try to improve the occasion by a homily on the sacredness of other people’s possessions.
‘It’s quite all right, children,’ she said. ‘It was really very silly of me to take him about with me as I did. No, I don’t want him stuffed at all, and it’s quite all right. And you mustn’t worry about it. Now, let’s clear all the mess up, shall we? What a lot of newspaper!’
‘WE’LL SAVE UP ALL OUR MONEY, AND HAVE IT DONE FOR YOU PROPERLY,’ SAID WILLIAM.
‘Yes,’ explained William, ‘some of it’s what I brought to stuff it with, an’ some of it was in it before. The yellow ones are what were in it before.’
MISS CARROL OPENED OUT THE OLD NEWSPAPER AND GAVE A GASP OF AMAZEMENT.
Miss Carrol picked up the tight ball of ancient yellowed newspaper and opened it out. Then she gave a little gasp of amazement. For inside the tightly folded newspaper was a wad of notes – crinkled, crisp, hundred-pound notes – the whole of Uncle Josiah’s missing fortune. That had been his final trick on her – to leave it to her stuffed in the cat she had always disliked.
Miss Carrol, William, Ginger, Henry and Douglas, all tense with excitement, boarded the bus for Hadley.
They were all going there on different business.
Miss Carrol was going to see the house-agent about Honeysuckle Cottage. William was going to buy his mother a silk scarf. Ginger was going to buy his mother a travelling-clock. Henry was going to buy his mother a cut-glass scent spray. Douglas was going to buy his mother a leather handbag.
It was going to be a jolly fine Christmas after all.
Richmal Crompton was born in Lancashire in 1890. The first story about William Brown appeared in Home magazine in 1919, and the first collection of William stories was published in book form three years later. In all, thirty-eight William books were published, the last one in 1970, after Richmal Crompton’s death.
‘Probably the funniest, toughest children’s books ever written’
Sunday Times on the Just William series
‘Richmal Crompton’s creation [has] been famed for his cavalier attitude to life and those who would seek to circumscribe his enjoyment of it ever since he first appeared’
Guardian
Books available in the Just William series
William at War
Just William
More William
William Again
William the Fourth
William at Christmas
And coming soon
Still William
William the Conqueror
William the Outlaw
William in Trouble
William the Good
William
William the Bad
William’s Happy Days
First published in 1995 as Just William at Christmas by Macmillan Children’s Books
This edition published 2015 by Macmillan Children’s Books
This electronic edition published 2015 by Macmillan Children’s Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Associated companies throughout the wor
ld
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-5098-2274-4
All stories copyright © Edward Ashbee and Catherine Massey
This selection copyright © Edward Ashbee and Catherine Massey 1995
Foreword copyright © Julia Donaldson 2015
Illustrations copyright © Thomas Henry Fisher Estate
Cover illustration by David Roberts
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Typeset by Nigel Hazle
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