"Oh, nonsense!" was the reply. "The place is too strong and full of oak
and stone. The hall couldn't be burned. Here, it's of no use waiting
any longer; she will not come down. Let's go out in the garden."

Fred glanced at the stairs, and followed his companion unwillingly; but
no sooner were they outside than Scar called his companion's attention
to the bedroom window, where the maid in question was leaning out,
watching Nat Lee, as he slowly did his work.

The girl caught sight of the two lads, drew back, and as they waited in
the great porch they had the satisfaction of hearing her go back, along
the corridor, closing the door at the end.

"Now, Fred," said Scarlett, excitedly, "we're safe at last." He dashed
up the stairs and slipped the bolt of the door through which the maid
had just passed, and returned to the top of the stairs. "Come along,"
he whispered. "Don't stand there. Bring the light."

Fred ran to the great closet and obtained the burning candle. The
baluster was twisted; there was the familiar _crick-crack_; the loose
step was thrust back, and the boys stood looking into the long box-like
opening.

"Wouldn't it be safer to fasten the front door too?" said Fred in a
whisper.

"Yes, and be quick," replied his companion in the same low, excited
manner.

Fred ran down, closed the great oaken door, ran a ponderous bolt into
its receptacle, and again joined his companion.

"Now then," whispered Scarlett, "what shall we do?"

As he spoke he knelt down and thrust the candle in as far as he could
reach, disclosing the fact that this was no rough back to the staircase,
but a smooth, carefully finished piece of work.

"Shall we try if we can creep in?" suggested Fred.

"I hardly like to; but if you will, I will."

"I will," replied Fred, laconically.

"But how are we to get in? It isn't deep enough to crawl."

"Tell you what," cried Fred, "I think the way is to lie down in it and
then roll along. There's plenty of room that way."

"Will you try?"

"If you'll come after me."

"Go on, then."

Fred hesitated a few moments, and then holding the candle as far forward
as he could he lay down, but instead of rolling, shuffled himself along
under the landing, finding plenty of room for his journey, and pushing
the light onward as he crept sidewise.

"Coming, Scar?" he whispered rather hoarsely.

"Yes, I'm coming. Mind the candle doesn't set fire to anything. What's
that?"

"Only