“I’ll show you d’reckly,” said Jem. “You make that there end fast round the bar. It isn’t rotten, is it?”
“No,” said Don, after an examination; “it seems very solid.” And untying the rope from his waist, he knotted it to the little beam.
The next minute Jem gave a heavy drag at the rope, then a jerk, and next swung to it, going to and fro for a few seconds.
“Hold a ton,” whispered Jem; and reaching up as high as he could, he gripped the rope between his legs and over his ankle and foot, and apparently with the greatest ease drew himself up to the bar, threw a leg over and sat astride with his face beaming.
“They sha’n’t have us this time, Mas’ Don,” he said, running the rope rapidly through his hands until he had reached the end, when he gathered it up in rings, till he had enough to throw beyond the sloping roof.
“Here goes!” he whispered; and he tossed it from him into the gathering gloom.
The falling rope made a dull sound, and then there was a sharp gliding noise.
One of the broken fragments of glass had been started from where it had lodged, and slid rapidly down the tiles.
They held their breath as they waited to hear it fall tinkling beyond on the pavement; but they listened in vain, for the simple reason that it had fallen into the gutter.
“All right, Mas’ Don! Here goes!” said Jem, and he lowered the rope to its full extent.