“Supper time; there’s the bell,” answered Ned. “Tell Marm I’m changing my clothes, Sandy. And don’t you swipe my butter, Dutch!”
[CHAPTER IX]
THE GHOST IN THE ORCHARD
“At half-past ten by the old town clock,” in the words of The Fungus, eight figures might have been dimly seen emerging from the dining-room window and crossing the turf toward the lilac hedge. They might have been seen, but weren’t; which was just as well for the little band of marauders. In some pocket each member of the desperate company carried a pillow-case. Their coats were buttoned close and no tell-tale expanse of linen was allowed to show. One by one they bent and squirmed through the hole in the picket fence and as silently as possible negotiated the lilac hedge. The latter wasn’t an easy task, for the bushes were close together and the branches had managed to form a fairly impregnable barrier. But at last they were all through, Claire Parker bringing up the rear with his heart in his mouth and his eyes staring anxiously about in the darkness. Between them and the back of the house, which, like many old residences thereabouts, consisted of a series of additions running back from the main house in an ever diminishing fashion and terminating in a disused granary, was a fair eighty yards of turf and garden, while beyond the orchard of pear and apple and plum trees, interspersed with small fruits, was near at hand. They halted in the deep shadow of a group of shade trees that stood near the hedge and listened. Not a sound was to be heard from the direction of the house. The moon wasn’t in sight, although in the east the sky showed light. Stars peered down at them here and there, but for the most part clouds covered the sky. At the front of the house yellow light shone out on the drive.
“All quiet along the Potomac,” whispered Spud. “Let’s hurry before that moon butts in and spoils things.”
“Better keep in the lower side of the orchard,” advised Hoop. “Then they can’t see us possibly.”
“Sure. Besides, the big red apples are down there at the corner. The others aren’t worth fooling with.”
“Come on, then,” said Sandy. “I’ll go ahead. Keep quiet, fellows. Stop your whispering, Dutch.”