William is a Spy. I have the proofs. How my hand trembles
as I set down the terrable words.
I discovered it thus.
Feeling somewhat emty at bed time and never sleeping well
when hollow inside, I went down to the pantrey at eleven P. M.
to see if any of the dinner puding had been left, although not
hopeful, owing to the servants mostly finishing the desert.
_William was in the pantrey_.
He was writing somthing, and he tried to hide it when I
entered.
Being in my _robe de nuit_ I closed the door and said
through it:
"Please go away, William. Because I want to come in, unless
all the puding is gone."
I could hear him moving around, as though concealing
somthing.
"There is no puding, miss," he said. "And no fruit except
for breakfast. Your mother is very particuler that no one take
the breakfast fruit."
"William," I said sternly, "go out by the kitchen door.
Because I am hungry, and I am coming in for _somthing_."
He was opening and closing the pantrey drawers, and
although young, and not a housekeeper, I knew that he was not
looking in them for edables.
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