ie. He marched round
the house and up to the side window; no one was about, the whole
place seemed very quiet. Martha, as he had seen, was cooking in
the kitchen, and the other girl was whitening the front veranda.
He gave one steady look at the great spiky thorns, and the next
minute was climbing up among them.

Oh, how they pierced and tore him! There was a great, jagged
wound up one arm, his left stocking was ripped away and a deep
red scratch showed across his leg, his hands were bleeding and
quivering with pain.

But he had reached the sill, and that was everything.

He pushed up the narrow window, and with much difficulty
forced his little fat body through. Then he dropped down on to
a shelf, and lowered himself gingerly on to the floor. There was
no time to stay to look at his many hurts, he merely regarded
the biggest scratch with rueful eyes, and then began to look around
for provender. The pantry was remarkably empty--not a sign of
cakes, not a bit of jelly, not a remnant of fowl anywhere. He cut
a great piece off a loaf, and carefully wrapped some butter in a
scrap of newspaper. There was some corned beef on a dish, and he
cut off a thick lump and rolled it up with the remains of a
loquat tart. These parcels he disposed of down the loose front of
his sailor coat, filling up his pockets with sultanas, citron-peel,
currants, and such dainties as the store bottles held. And then
he prepared to make his painful retreat.

He climbed upon the shelf once more, put his head out of the
window, and gave a look of despair at the cactus. And even as
he knelt there sounded behind him the sharp click of a turning
key.

He looked wildly round, and there was Martha in the doorway, and
to his utter horror she was talking to his father, who was in the
passage just beyond.

"Row's Embrocation, or arnica," the Captain was saying. "It is
probably in this pantry, my good girl, because it is the last
place I should expect it to be in. I left it on my bedroom
mantelpiece, but somebody has seen fit to meddle with it. Why
in the name of all that is mysterious can't you let my things
alone?"

"And for what should I be after moving it for?" Martha retorted.
"I don't mix the pastry with it to make it lightsome, leastway
not ordinarily."

She tossed her head, and the action revealed the small, kneeling,
terrified figure at the window. Now the door was only half open,
and her master was standing just beside it