“So far, so good,” he murmured, as he picked up the glove, and started down a rear path to get beyond the house, when he would strike out for the village. But, just as he thought he was safe, he heard some one moving on the other side of a large lilac bush, and, before he could get out of the way, he was confronted by Miss Klopper. She had been out to feed a late supper to a hen and some little chickens in the lower part of the garden.
“Does my brother know you have left your room?” asked the lady of the house.
“I don’t know,” replied Jack.
That was truthful enough, for Mr. Klopper had a habit of sneaking up to Jack’s room, to look through the keyhole, on such occasions as he sent the lad to his apartment for punishment, and the crabbed old man might, even now, have discovered the absence of his ward.
“Didn’t he tell you to stay in your room?” went on Miss Klopper.
“He did, but I don’t want to. It’s too nice out,” and Jack took in deep breaths of the air, laden with the sweet scent of roses.
“You must go back at once,” went on the spinster.
“I’m not going to,” replied Jack. “I’m going to have a good time for once in my life.”
“I shall tell my brother of your insubordinate conduct.”
“I don’t care,” fired back Jack, as he hurried on.