The sky, which had been overcast up to this point, now began to show through here and there in patches.
And ere long the imprisoned moon sailed into these spaces, and her light occasionally illuminated the landscape.
One of these spells of moonshine showed the boys the distant spire of the Jayville Methodist Church and the roofs of many of the houses.
“The Fairclough mansion is over yonder,” said Dick, pointing in the direction. “I remember Mr. Maslin pointing it out to me a year ago, when we drove down here one day on business. We’ll cut across this meadow and save at least two miles by the road.”
On the other side of the field was a clump of trees.
Dick pointed out a couple of branches that would make stout cudgels, and he and Joe were presently in possession of a pair of serviceable weapons.
As they cautiously drew near the Revolutionary relic they made out three indistinct figures hovering about the building.
Suddenly the figures clustered about a rear window that was high above their reach, and Dick and Joe saw one of them mount on the shoulders of the other two and commence operations by splintering the glass with a blow of some implement.
At that interesting juncture the boys’ ears caught the sound of approaching wheels, and before they realized what was about to happen a miserable-looking buggy, drawn by a thin, bony mare, dashed into the unkempt driveway and rattled up to the porch.
The occupant of the ramshackle vehicle showed up in the moonlight to be an old man of at least eighty years, wrapped in a faded green overcoat, with a comforter of some indescribable color tucked about his throat, the ends floating in the night air.