It was almost dark by this time, and Peggy's voice had sunk to an excited and ghostly whisper. She dropped off the gate, dislodging her companion—who it will be remembered had been accommodated with a seat upon a portion of her apparel—with some suddenness.
"We are rather late," she said. "I am not allowed to stay out after dark. Let's run! Give me your hand."
They trotted through the gloaming, and presently came to a house standing by itself, well back from the road. Breathing heavily, the two small conspirators stole round to the north side of the house, and presently came to a halt close under the wall. Above their heads, eight feet up, Philip could see a small window. It stood open.
"Take me on your back," said Peggy. "Stoop down."
Philip obeyed.
"Keep quite steady!"
By dint of much struggling, the agile Miss Falconer succeeded in working her small but sharp knees on to Philip's shoulders.
"Now!" she whispered at length. "Stand up slowly, with your face to the wall!"
Philip straightened his back laboriously, his fair burden maintaining her balance by clinging to his hair with both hands.
"This is a splendid adventure!" she whispered.