“Be ye comin’, any time to-night?” called the voice of Mrs. Peternot from the adjoining room.
“She’s waitin’,” said the squire. “We was just goin’ to ’tend prayers, when you come in,—had been delayin’ a little on your account. I’ll put it back here for the present; then, arter prayers, I’ll see what had better be done with ’t for the night.”
Peternot, having returned the bag to its niche, sent his nephew out of the room before him, and followed, bearing the candle, which he blew out, to save it, as he crossed the threshold. The door was left open, however, and a dim light stole into the room from the kitchen beyond.
“Now’s your time!” whispered Hank. “I’ll put ye in there! Pass out the bag,—be still about it,—it’s all right.”
“I can’t, without making a noise!” replied Jack, trembling with excitement. “They’ll hear.”
“No, they won’t! Don’t hurry. I’ll help you. Take off your shoes.”
Jack took off his shoes and hat, giving them to Tug to hold. Still he hesitated.
“I wish they had shut the door! Wait a minute! Hark!”
“The old man is readin’ the Scriptur’s!” said Hank. “Then he’ll pray. It couldn’t have happened better. Ye could grind a scythe, when he’s prayin’, an’ he wouldn’t hear.”
Jack listened a moment, and heard the squire read in a loud, nasal tone:—
“_But know this, that if the good man of the house had known in what hour the thief would come he would have watched._”
“I _can’t_ go!” Jack whispered, turning away.
“You can!” Hank insisted. “Now or never! Your only chance. I’ll lift you up.”
Hank lifted him, and Jack went in at the window feet foremost. In a moment he found himself standing on the floor,—frightened, but alert and resolute. He did not think he had made much noise.
“_The lord of that servant shall come in a day when he looketh not for him, and in an hour that he is not aware of, and shall cut him asunder, and appoint him his portion with the hypocrites._”
A thrill of terror crept over poor Jack, who could not help thinking that all this applied, somehow, particularly to himself. But it was too late now to draw back, he thought.
He glided across the carpetless floor, making scarcely any noise with his bare feet, except that his ankle-bones cracked alarmingly. He did not stop until he reached the corner by the bureau; when he perceived, by the changed tones of voice, that Peternot was no longer reading, but talking,—making a few solemn comments on “the words,” as he phrased it, which they were “called to consider.” It was well for Jack that he had seen good Mr. and Mrs. Chatford at their devotions, and also known them in their daily lives, for otherwise I know not what contemptuous ideas of religion he might have received, from witnessing the family worship of the hard-hearted and worldly-minded squire.