Standing on an empty and shaky cranberry crate and held there by the
strong arm of Mrs. Barnes, Emily managed to push up the lower half
of the window. The moment she let go of it, however, it fell with a
tremendous bang.

"One of the old-fashioned kind, you might know," declared Thankful. "No
weights nor nothin'. We'll have to prop it up with a stick. You wait
where you are and I'll go get one. There's what's left of a woodpile out
back here; that's where that crate came from."

She hastened away and was back in a moment with a stout stick. Emily
raised the window once more and placed the stick beneath it.

"There!" panted her companion. "We've got a gangway anyhow. Next thing
is to get aboard. You come down and give me a boost."

But Emily declined.

"Of course I shan't do any such thing," she declared, indignantly. "I
can climb through that window a great deal easier than you can, Auntie.
I'm ever so much younger. Just give me a push, that's all."

Her cousin demurred. "I hate to have you do it," she said. "For anybody
that ain't any too strong or well you've been through enough tonight.
Well, if you're so set on it. I presume likely you could make a better
job of climbin' than I could. It ain't my age that bothers me though,
it's my weight. All ready? Up you go! Humph! It's a mercy there ain't
anybody lookin' on. . . . There! all right, are you?"

Emily's head appeared framed by the window sash. "Yes," she panted.
"I--I think I'm all right. At least I'm through that window. Now what
shall I do?"

"Take this lantern and go to one of the doors and see if you can
unfasten it. Try the back door; that's the most liable to be only bolted
and hooked. The front one's probably locked with a key."

The lantern and its bearer disappeared. Mrs. Barnes plodded around to
the back door. As she reached it it opened.

"It was only hooked," said Emily. "Come in, Auntie. Come in quick!"

Thankful had not waited for the invitation; she was in already. She took
the lantern from her relative's hand. Then she shut the door behind her.

"Whew!" she exclaimed. "If it don't seem good to get under cover, real
cover! What sort of a place is this, anyhow, Emily?"

"I don't know. I--I've been too frightened to look. I--I feel like a--O,
Aunt Thankful, don't you feel like a burglar?"

"Me? A burglar? I feel like a wet dishcloth. I never was so soaked, with
my clothes on, in my life. Hello! I thought this was an empty house.
There's