On one especial occasion, a warm afternoon late in June, when the houses and yards were all quiet, and the very dogs lay still in the shade, the Vicar led them softly to the chicken yard, mystified them by crawling through a broken glass frame into the covered roost, crouching along beneath the perches, and going out again by the legitimate door without stopping to speak. This effectually silenced the Lieutenant—the chicken house seemed an old ruse to him, and he was sniffing in preparation for the expression of his opinion. Out across the yard and twice around an enormous hogshead they walked solemnly. Such a prelude must mean a great finale, and the Head Captain felt decidedly curious. The Vicar paused, made a short detour for the purpose of getting two empty boxes, piled them one on the other, and lightly swung herself into the cask. A loud thud announced her safe arrival at the bottom, and flushed with delight at the incomparable secrecy of the thing, the Head Captain followed her. The Lieutenant, grumbling as usual, and very nearly hanging himself in his sash, which caught on the edge, tumbled after, and standing close together in the great barrel they grinned consciously at each other.
The Head Captain broke the silence.
“Are we all here?” he demanded, his voice waking strange and hollow echoes.
“Yes!” replied the Vicar delightedly, bursting with pride.
“Aye, aye!” said the Lieutenant with careful formality.
“Then listen here!” the Head Captain spoke in a hoarse whisper. “This’ll be a diff’rent way. This is going to be the real thing. To-day we’re going to steal!”
The Vicar gasped. “Really steal?” she whispered.
“Steal what?” said the Lieutenant with a non-committal gruffness.
“I don’t know till I get there,” replied the Head Captain grandly. “Gold, I suppose, or treasures or something like that. Of course, if we’re caught——”
The Lieutenant sucked in his breath with a peculiar whistling noise—one of his most envied accomplishments—and ran his finger-nail with a grating sound around his side of the barrel.