along that winding lane that led to the House of
Dapplemere.

Had there been anyone to see, (which there was not), they might have
noticed something almost furtive in his manner of approach, for he
walked always under the trees where the shadows lay thickest, and
paused, once or twice, to look about him warily. Being come within sight
of the house, he turned aside, and forcing his way through a gap in the
hedge, came by a roundabout course to the farm-yard. Here, after some
search, he discovered a spade, the which, (having discarded his stick),
he took upon his shoulder, and with the black leather bag tucked under
his arm, crossed the paddock with the same degree of caution, and so, at
last, reached the orchard. On he went, always in the shadow until, at
length, he paused beneath the mighty, knotted branches of "King Arthur."
Never did conspirator glance about him with sharper eyes, or hearken
with keener ears, than did George Bellew,--or Conspirator No. One, where
he now stood beneath the protecting shadow of "King Arthur,"--or
Conspirator No. Two, as, having unfolded the potato sack, he opened the
black leather bag.

The moon was rising broad, and yellow, but it was low as yet, and "King
Arthur" stood in impenetrable gloom,--as any other thorough-going,
self-respecting conspirator should; and now, all at once, from this
particular patch of shadow, there came a sudden sound,--a rushing
sound,--a chinking, clinking, metallic sound, and, thereafter, a crisp
rustling that was not the rustling of ordinary paper.

And now Conspirator No. One rises, and ties the mouth of the sack with
string he had brought with him for the purpose, and setting down the
sack, bulky now and heavy, by Conspirator No. Two, takes up the spade
and begins to dig. And, in a while, having made an excavation not very
deep to be sure, but sufficient to his purpose, he deposits the sack
within, covers it with soil, treads it down, and replacing the torn sod,
carefully pats it down with the flat of his spade. Which thing
accomplished, Conspirator No. One wipes his brow, and stepping forth of
the shadow, consults his watch with anxious eye, and, thereupon,
smiles,--surely a singularly pleasing smile for the lips of an
arch-conspirator to wear. Thereafter he takes up the black bag, empty
now, shoulders the spade, and sets off, keeping once more in the
shadows, leaving Conspirator No. Two to guard their guilty secret.

Now, as Conspirator No. One goes h