“Nor I,” said Ruth. “How about you, Pat?”
“I think I could get up far enough to reach it, if you girls will boost a bit,” replied Patricia.
“It’s O. K. with us, but for Heaven’s sake be as quiet as possible. We don’t want the dog set on us.”
“Oh, nobody’s around so early as this; there’s no window on this side of the shed, and the door is on the other. The farm house is back of that clump of trees.”
“Easy telling you don’t know anything about the country,” said Jane scornfully; “these farmers get up early.”
Stepping up on a log, which happened to lie conveniently close to the building, Patricia, with the aid of the girls, got a firm grip on the edge of the roof and drew herself up to a point where she could lie flat on its weather-worn boards and stretch her long arms up toward the coveted plants. With much effort, she succeeded in reaching the moss and in tearing up two big handfuls. Resting on her elbows for a moment to ease the strain on her arms, she was horrified to feel the boards underneath them begin to sag; and, with a dull splintering of ancient wood, her hands and lower arms disappeared into a yawning cavity. Simultaneously, the moss dropped from her fingers into the depths below.
A snort, a gasp, and a forceful exclamation from within the shed mingled with Patricia’s startled cry of “Girls, I’m falling in.”
“What shall we do? What shall we do?” demanded Ruth excitedly as Patricia, speechless with horror, gazed down through the hole over which she hung, and met the cold, grey eyes of Professor Yates! His immaculate shoulders and smooth black hair were covered with bits of moss.
“Pull me down, quick!” cried the horrified Patricia, finally recovering the power of speech.
“It will spoil your dress,” warned Jane.