“Hard to tell,” said Zeb. “Old Sol seems unable to comprehend how that bell managed to rope in his dun heifer.”
“I don’t wonder,” replied the deacon, with a very sharp look at his heir; but he and Mrs. Fuller had been talking the matter over, and had decided not to press Zeb too closely about it.
“I’m doing all I can for this village,” said Zeb to himself, that night, “but I fear an increase of activity will shortly be demanded.”
CHAPTER XIX
A NOCTURNAL ESCAPADE
The village of Ogleport was satisfactorily quiet, and as dark as the occasion called for, when Bar Vernon and Val Manning, with their shoes fastened to their waistbands, crept noiselessly out on the back roof.
There was not the least difficulty in getting into the branches of the maple, or from them to the ground below.
Then the shoes were hurriedly put on, and the two boys were off through the garden, down to the river bank, and from thence it was easy enough to gain one of the lower crossroads without being seen.
Half a mile of brisk walking in the direction of the lake brought them to the clump of bushes where they had hidden the joint product of their own skill and that of Puff Evans.