rize on
Saturday.'

'What'll it be, the sack?' inquired Harlow.

'Yes,' replied Philpot, 'and not honly will you get a prize for good
conduck tomorrer, but if you all keep on workin' like we've bin doing
lately till you're too hold and wore hout to do any more, you'll be
allowed to go to a nice workhouse for the rest of your lives! and each
one of you will be given a title--"Pauper!"'

And they laughed!

Although the majority of them had mothers or fathers or other near
relatives who had already succeeded to the title--they laughed!

As they were going home, Crass paused at the gate, and pointing up to
the large gable at the end of the house, he said to Philpot:

'You'll want the longest ladder--the 65, for that, tomorrow.'

Philpot looked up at the gable.

It was very high.

Chapter 46

The 'Sixty-five'

The next morning after breakfast, Philpot, Sawkins, Harlow and
Barrington went to the Yard to get the long ladder--the 65--so called
because it had sixty-five rungs. It was really what is known as a
builder's scaffold ladder, and it had been strengthened by several iron
bolts or rods which passed through just under some of the rungs. One
side of the ladder had an iron band or ribbon twisted and nailed round
it spirally. It was not at all suitable for painters' work, being
altogether too heavy and cumbrous. However, as none of the others were
long enough to reach the high gable at the Refuge, they managed, with a
struggle, to get it down from the hooks and put it on one of the
handcarts and soon passed through the streets of mean and dingy houses
in the vicinity of the yard, and began the ascent of the long hill.

There had been a lot of rain during the night, and the sky was still
overcast with dark grey clouds. The cart went heavily over the muddy
road; Sawkins was at the helm, holding the end of the ladder and
steering; the others walked a little further ahead, at the sides of the
cart.

It was such hard work that by the time they were half-way up the hill
they were so exhausted and out of breath that they had to stop for a
rest.

'This is a bit of all right, ain't it?' remarked Harlow as he took off
his cap and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief.

While they rested they kept a good look out for Rushton or Hunter, who
were likely to pass by at any moment.

At first, no one made any reply to Harlow's observation, for they were
all out of breath and Philpot's lean f