“And I’ll go with you,” said Bar.
Val’s services were also offered, but Dr. Dryer remarked that “two would be as large a number as the occasion demanded,” and Val was compelled to remain below.
The steeple was not a very lofty affair, but there was some climbing to be done, nevertheless, and both Bar and Brayton paused for breath on a sort of “deck,” twenty feet at least above the ridge of the main building, and as many more below the bell.
“What’s this wheel for?” asked Bar, as he closely scrutinized a bit of machinery firmly set on the deck. “It seems not to be used.”
“Looks like an old tolling gear,” said Brayton. “There’s another pulley-wheel to match it, up there by the bell, I fancy. They’ve changed the gearing now, and don’t use this any more. That’s a pokerish sort of place to climb into by moonlight, and those cleats are frail things to step on.”
“I’m lighter than you are,” said Bar, and, without another word, up he went.
“That’s no ordinary boy,” said Brayton to himself, and in another minute or so the rope, disengaged from the bell-gearing, came rattling down upon the deck beside him, and could be slipped through to the lower floors and removed beyond the reach of mysterious heifers and evil-disposed boys.
Bar followed the rope quickly, and George Brayton’s keen eyes noted with what an easy, confident, unhesitating movement the boy glided down the frail and quivering framework.
The Academy bell-tower had been standing a long time, and, although it was stanch enough, it could hardly be called immovable.
The greatest trial of that night to the Rev. Dr. Dryer was the fact that Zebedee Fuller had been in bed, and that so he had no decent excuse for any attempt to question him concerning the misdeeds of the dun heifer.