“Bread-and-cheese, uncle; but she says you always give money.”
“Well, boy, it isn’t Mrs Fidler’s money. That must be exact.”
Bang, hang, hang at the gate, and then—
“Anybody at home?” came faintly.
“Why, it’s Mr Maxted, uncle. May I go and speak to him?”
“Yes, you can let go now. Tell him to come up.”
Tom left the telescope and went to the shutter, which he threw open, and stepped out into the little gallery.
“Good-morning. Your uncle there?”
“Yes, sir. He says you are to come up.”
“Come up?” said the Vicar, laughing. “I don’t know. It was bad enough on the ground-floor. I don’t want to be shot out of the top. Is it safe?”