e are Master Harry's gloves lying at the bottom of
it. They can be gone nowhere else, for I have searched every other
place. We must send the town-crier with his bell after them, if they are
not found up there!"

Mrs. Crabtree now seemed fearfully angry, while Laura began to tremble
with fright for Harry, who was listening overhead, and did not know very
well what to do, but foolishly thought it best to put off the evil hour
of being punished as long as possible; so he and Peter silently crept in
below a great quantity of hay, and hid themselves so cunningly, that
even a thief-catcher could scarcely have discovered their den. In this
dark corner, Harry had time to reflect and to feel more and more alarmed
and sorry for his misconduct, so he said, in a very distressed voice,
"Oh, Peter! what a pity it is ever to be naughty, for we are always
found out, and always so much happier when we are good!"

"I wonder how Mrs. Crabtree will get up the long ladder?" whispered
Peter, laughing. "I would give my little finger, and one of my ears, to
see her and Betty scrambling along!"

Harry had to pinch Peter's arm almost black and blue before he would be
quiet; and by the time he stopped talking, Mrs. Crabtree and Betty were
both standing in the hay-loft, exceedingly out of breath with climbing
so unusually high, while Mrs. Crabtree very nearly fell, having stumbled
over a step at the entrance.

"Why, sure! there's nobody here!" exclaimed she, in a disappointed tone.
"And what a disorderly place this is! I thought a hay-loft was always
kept in such nice order, with the floor all swept! but here is a fine
mess! Those two great lumps of hay in the corner look as if they were
meant for people to sleep upon!"

Harry gave himself up for lost when Mrs. Crabtree noticed the place
where he and Peter had buried themselves alive; but to his great relief,
no suspicion seemed to have been excited, and neither of the two
searchers were anxious to venture beyond the door, after having so
nearly tripped upon the threshold.

"They must have been stolen by a gipsey, or perhaps fallen into a well,"
said Betty, who rather liked the bustle of an accident. "I always
thought Master Peter would break his neck, or something of that kind.
Poor thing! how distressed his papa will be!"

"Hold your tongue," interrupted Mrs. Crabtree, angrily. "I wish people
would either speak sense, or not speak at all! Did you hear a noise
among the hay?"

"Rats, I