“Oh no, Miss; I won’t kill it,” said Peter, as Helen went back into the garden. “But I mean to catch it if I can.”
Peter went into the dark old building and looked round, but there was no sign of the squirrel. Still a little animal like that would be sure to go upwards, so Peter climbed the half-rotten ladder, and stood in the long dark range of lofts, peering among the rafters and ties in search of the bushy-tailed little creature.
He walked to the end in one direction, then in the other, till he was stopped by an old boarded partition, in which there was a door which had been nailed up; but he remembered that this had a flight of steps, or rather a broad-stepped old wood ladder, on the other side, leading to a narrower loft right in the gable.
“Wonder where it can be got,” said Peter to himself; and then he turned round, ran along the loft, dropped down through the trap-door, and nearly slipped and fell, so hurried was his flight.
Half-across the yard he came upon Dan’l wheeling a barrow full of mould for potting.
“Hallo! what’s the matter?”
Peter gasped and panted, but said nothing.
“Haven’t seen a ghost, have you?” said Dan’l.
“Ye–es. No,” panted Peter.
“Why, you white-faced, cowardly noodle!” cried Dan’l. “What d’yer mean?”