“Well, we’ve got to keep the castle, Ben.”
“We have, sir, and keep it we will, till everybody’s about wounded or dead, and the enemy comes swarming and cheering in, and then they shan’t have it.”
“Why, they’ll have got it, Ben,” said Roy, laughing, but rather uncomfortably, for the man’s words as to the future did not sound pleasant.
“Ay, and I shall take it away from ’em, sir; for if the worst comes to the worst, I shall have made all my plans before, and I’ll do a bit o’ Guy Fawkesing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, I should ha’ thought you’d ha’ understood that, sir.”
“Of course I do; but how could you blow up the castle?”
“By laying a train to the powder-magazine, knocking the heads out of a couple o’ kegs, and then up it goes.”
“Powder—magazine—kegs?” cried Roy. “Why, we haven’t one, and I wanted to talk to you about getting some. How’s it to be done?”
“By going to your father’s lib’ry, sir, and opening the little drawer as he keeps locked up in the big oak table. There’s the keys there.”