Though I had roused Shock out of bed he had no dressing to do, and following me down the ladder he walked quickly after me down one of the paths, then to the right along another till we came to a corner, when we both stopped and listened.
Shock began to hiss very softly, as if he were a steam-engine with the vapour escaping from the safety-valve, as we heard, about fifty yards from us, the rustling of the pear-trees, the heavy shake of a bough, and then through the pitchy darkness whop! whop! whop! whop! as the pears fell on to the soft ground.
“You go this way,” I whispered to Shock, “and I’ll go that way, and then we’ll rush in and catch them.”
“Yes,” he said back. “Hit hard, and mind and get hold o’ the bag.”
We were separating when he caught hold of my arm.
“’Old ’ard,” he whispered. “Let’s rush ’em together.”
In the darkness perhaps his was the better plan. At all events we adopted it, and taking hold of hands we advanced on tiptoe trembling with expectation, our sticks grasped, and every now and then the pendent branches of some tree rustling in and sweeping our faces. And all the time, just in front, we could hear the hurried shaking of boughs, the fall of the pears, and tittering and whispering as the party seemed to be picking up the spoil.
“We shall have too many,” whispered a voice just before us.
“Never mind; let’s fill the bag. Go it, boys.”
“Hush! Some one’ll hear.”