"But where?" asked Jill. "It was on the top of a high hill."
"Yes," nodded Jack; "but I've thought it out. There's the church tower. We'll do it to-morrow afternoon, and we'll take the geese up first."
"That will be splendid," said Jill; "only how will you do it? Remember the swans! I think if we can get hold of their food, and hold it out to them, they'll follow us, but how will you climb up to the tower?"
"Tom Sanders has done it. He told me he did, and I'm longing to try. You climb the yew tree first, and then get on to the ivy. Then you get in at the belfry window. He got out again and went up by the lightning-conductor, but I thought the geese would see me climbing in at the window and then they'll cackle—and of course I shan't be able to come on any further."
"But supposing they don't cackle?"
"Well, that's the game—to see if they do! If they don't, I shall know Roman history tells lies. Because, of course, these geese are just the same as those were."
"These are English geese!" Jill said doubtfully.
Jack was undaunted. He was a true little Briton.
"Then they must be better than Roman geese, and they'll cackle twice as loud, and be double as fierce!"