ront of a firing squad if it were seen."

This seemed a good idea. Bleak volunteered to escort Miss Chuff back to
the car and help her rip the covers off the cushions. This was done,
and they carried back to Quimbleton's hiding place many yards of pale
lilac colored twill (or whatever it is) and a flask of iced tea. In
spite of distant sounds of warfare, the time passed pleasantly enough.
Miss Chuff cut out and stitched assiduously; Quimbleton and Bleak,
under her directions, sewed on the buttons snipped from the uniform.
Birds twittered in the greenery about them, and they all felt something
of the elation of a picnic when the garments were done and Quimbleton
retired to a neighboring copse to make the change. The other two were
too seriously concerned for his welfare to laugh when they saw him.

"Splendid!" cried Bleak. "Now you can lie down in Miss Chuff's car and
if any one looks in they'll just think you're part of the furnishings."

"And I think we'd better get back to the car without delay," said
Theodolinda. "I'd like to get you out of this danger zone as soon as
possible."

They hastened back to the wall, scaled it with the rope ladder--and
stared in dismay. The car had gone. They could see it far down the
road, guarded by a group of Pan-Antis. A cordon of the enemy had been
thrown completely round the Home and escape was impossible. Worse
still, the treachery of Miss Chuff must have been discovered, and they
trembled to think what retaliation the Bishop might devise.

In this moment of crisis Quimbleton regained his customary hardihood.
Quilted in his lilac garments, with the white hedge of beard tossing in
the breeze, he looked the dashing leader.

"There's only one thing to do," he said. "We're surrounded in this
place. We must go to the Home, make common cause with the prisoners
there, and lead them in a sudden sally of escape."

CHAPTER VI

DEPARTED SPIRITS

If Bishop Chuff desired to make people stop thinking about alcohol, his
plan of seizing them and shutting them up in the grounds of the Federal
Home at Cana was a quaint way of attaining this purpose. For all the
victims, who had been suddenly arrested in the course of their daily
concerns, accused (before a rum-head court martial) of harboring
illicit alcoholic desires, and driven over to Cana in crowded
motor-trucks, now had very little else to brood about. In the golden
light and fragrance of a summer afternoon, here they were surr