Don sighed and went on eating. He was horribly low-spirited, but his youthful appetite once started, he felt the need of food, and kept on in silence, passing and receiving the cup till all was gone.
“That job’s done,” said Jem, placing the jug on the plate, and the cup in the mouth of the jug. “Now then, I’m ready, Mas’ Don. You said escape, didn’t you, sir?”
“Yes. What shall we do?”
“Well, we can’t go down that way, sir, because the trap-door’s bolted.”
“There is the window, Jem.”
“Skylights, you mean, sir,” said Jem, looking up at the sloping panes in the roof. “Well, let’s have a look. Will you get a-top o’ my shoulders, or shall I get a-top o’ yourn?”
“I couldn’t bear you, Jem.”
“Then up you gets, my lad, like the tumblers do at the fair.”
It seemed easy enough to get up and stand on the sturdy fellow’s shoulders, but upon putting it to the test, Don found it very hard, and after a couple of failures he gave up, and they stood together looking up at the sloping window, which was far beyond their reach.
“Dessay it’s fastened, so that we couldn’t open it,” said Jem.