CLEARING THE LARDER.
April 23rd.—I've only time for a line before Chandos comes in, and the other fellows don't want him to know anything of what's going on. We've done it—cleared the larder of every pie and custard we could get hold of. I thought we should be caught once, and my hair almost stood on end as I heard cook's voice outside the door; but she went on, and so did we. I handed the things to Collins through the window, and each fellow in the secret took something and stole up to his room with it, and now they are all safely packed in the hamper, and Swain has promised it shall go in the cart. Poor old Swain, if he only knew what he had promised! But he'll never know that he helped to clear the governor's pantry, although he'll pull a long face to-morrow when he comes home and finds there's precious little to eat. The best of the fun is, they won't find out that they're gone until dinner is nearly ready, for the precious things were packed on the top shelves out of the way, and I nearly broke my neck once trying to reach them. I wonder what Chandos will say about this when he hears of it? He is looking forward to the fun we shall have in the woods to-morrow as much as anybody. I wonder whether he would think this innocent fun? I don't think I shall go to the feed, though I helped to get the things, for Collins won't ask him, which I think is rather mean of him, considering that Chandos had to stay here for the Easter holidays, while the rest of us went home for a fortnight.
I wonder what we shall do with the dishes when we've eaten the pies! We can't bring 'em home, that's certain, and Swain mustn't see them either, and he'll expect to be invited, for Collins has pitched him a fine yarn about the things his mother has sent for this feed. I must ask Collins what he means to do about this, for if we don't look out the crockery will spoil the whole game. What a pity it is they can't make pies without dishes! I almost wish I'd only brought those little tarts that Collins carried away in his handkerchief. They got broken a bit, and some of the jam ran out, but they're just as good broken as whole, and there's no dishes to worry about. Bother the dishes! I must go and speak to him about them before Chandos comes up. I wonder why he is downstairs so long after time. Surely he can't have any mischief on hand!
April 25th.—Our holiday is over, and the fun too; but I'm afraid we haven't heard the last of the governor's pies. If he only knew what a bother they were to us after all, and how often we wished them back in the pantry even before we had eaten them, he would feel more comfortable about it, I should think, for it's the last time I'll ever have anything to do with robbing a larder, even for a lark. It was all through the dishes. Nobody knew how we were to get rid of them, and some of the fellows got so frightened they wanted to pitch the whole lot away. But we couldn't do that, even if Collins and Jackson would have agreed to it, for the hamper had gone in the cart, and we couldn't get at it until Swain said, soon after we reached Dinglewell, "Would you like your hamper left with the other things until dinner-time, Collins?"
"I don't think so, sir, Stewart and Jackson, and a few more of us, are going to look for ferns, and so we can carry the hamper, and if we shouldn't get back by dinner-time it won't matter."
"I don't know so much about that," said Swain, turning rather rusty; "I cannot let you stray miles off. You may take the hamper, of course, but you must not go beyond the old tower, and then I shall know where to find you if you are wanted."
"The contrary old hunks—he's never done that before!" grumbled Collins, as we turned away, carrying the hamper between us.
We didn't feel very jolly about the thing now, and I wished I could back out of it and join the football party with Chandos and the rest. We might have been carrying a coffin with the body of somebody we'd killed, by the solemn way we marched along. As soon as we were away from Swain and the rest I said, "Now let's pitch all the rubbish down the first hole we can find."
"That's your own throat, I suppose, Stewart," said Jackson.
"No, I don't want a bit; I've had enough thinking of the dishes," I said.