"Really, Master Wheatman, not curious? Here we are in a narrow yard at the foot of a high wall. I'm perfectly certain that within five minutes I shall be whisked over to the other side. And you got that out of Virgil?"
"Straight out of Virgil, madam. Stafford was our Troy, and this the wall thereof. I've got in and out thousands of times."
She peered comically around the dark playground and said gaily, "I see no wooden horse. There should be one, I know. Master Dryden says so, and he knows all about Virgil."
"Poof," said I. "If old Bloggs heard you, he'd tingle to thrash you black and blue."
"He couldn't now I've got my breath again," she laughed.
"I'm glad of that. Let me explain. Here is a ladder of notches in the wall, left and right alternately. Feel for them." She did so, and I went on: "They are roughly three feet apart on each side. I'll climb up first and assist you up the last few. Your skirts will trouble you, I fear."
"Not much, for I'll turn them up." She promptly did so, and fastened the edges round her waist. She also discarded the long, cumbrous domino, and I took it from her.
"Watch me," said I, "and follow when I give the word. I'll have a look round first."
Up I went, hand over hand, as easily as ever I had done it. I crouched down on the top of the wall, which, fortunately, lay in the shadow of the schoolhouse. I saw in the sky the reflected glare of a fire at the north gate, another picket I supposed, but there were houses without the gate, and these were dark and silent. There was no fear of our being observed.
"Come!" I whispered.