A little before seven he went out, without anyone paying any particular attention to his action. Possibly the mother supposed Frank was going to church, for he and Lanky both sang in the volunteer choir.
But the boy really believed he had good reasons for absenting himself from his regular seat in the organ loft that night. And under his coat he carried the field glasses which he had spoken of to his chum.
Lanky was waiting for him, and kicking his heels against the base of the big tree that had been appointed as a place of meeting.
“Gee! aren’t you late, Frank?” he asked, a little pettishly.
Just then the church clock boomed out the hour of seven, as if saving Frank the trouble of making a reply.
“I reckon I’ve been here half an hour, and countin’ the minutes,” admitted Lanky, candidly, as they started off on a brisk walk.
Evening was just coming on, and there were some clouds covering the heavens as the sun went down, which gave Lanky new cause for anxiety. He would not be happy a single day if things went too smoothly.
“Reckon now there’s a storm just wantin’ to sail along this way, to upset all our calculations about Wednesday,” he grumbled.
“Oh! I guess not,” Frank tried to console him by saying; “weather reports say dry weather and warmer for the whole eastern half of the country for the first three days of the week, beginning to-morrow. I looked it up this morning. Forget it, and let’s think only of what we’re trying to do right now.”
When they saw anyone approaching they stepped into the nearby woods, and let the other pass by. Perhaps this looked a little suspicious, but then Frank was afraid that one of the gypsy men might happen that way, and hurry back with a report that was apt to create some little excitement in the queen’s van.