But before I had reached the end of the path another idea had occurred to me. Old Brownsmith would not be able to catch one of the boys, but Shock would if he was up in the loft, and in the hope that he was sleeping there I ran to the foot of the steps, scrambled up, and pushing back the door, which was only secured with a big wooden latch, I crept in as cautiously as I could.
“Shock!” I whispered. “Shock! Are you here?”
I listened, but there was not a sound.
“Shock!” I whispered again. “Shock!”
“If ver don’t go I’ll heave the hay-fork at yer,” came in a low angry voice.
“No, no: don’t,” I said. “I want you. Come on, and bring a big stick: there’s some boys stealing the pears.”
There was a rustle and a scramble, and Shock was by my side, more full of life and excitement than I had ever noticed him before.
“Pears?” he whispered hoarsely; “arter the pears? Where? Where are they?”
He kept on the move, making for the door and coming back, and behaving altogether like a dog full of expectation of a rush after some wild creature in a hunt.
“Be quiet or we sha’n’t catch them,” I whispered. “Some boys have climbed over the wall, and are after the Marie Louise pears.”