However, both Johnny Trumbull and Lily Jennings, who were waiting for
him at the rendezvous, were startled by his appearance. Both began to
run, Johnny pulling Lily after him by the hand, but Arnold's cautious
hallo arrested them. Johnny and Lily returned slowly, peering through
the darkness.

"It's me," said Arnold, with gay disregard of grammar.

"You looked," said Lily, "like a real fat old man. What HAVE you got on,
Arnold Carruth?"

Arnold slouched before his companions, ridiculous but triumphant. He
hitched up a leg of the riding-breeches and displayed a long, green silk
stocking. Both Johnny and Lily doubled up with laughter.

"What you laughing at?" inquired Arnold, crossly.

"Oh, nothing at all," said Lily. "Only you do look like a scarecrow
broken loose. Doesn't he, Johnny?"

"I am going home," stated Arnold with dignity. He turned, but Johnny
caught him in his little iron grip.

"Oh, shucks, Arnold Carruth!" said he. "Don't be a baby. Come on." And
Arnold Carruth with difficulty came on.

People in the village, as a rule, retired early. Many lights were out
when the affair began, many went out while it was in progress. All three
of the band steered as clear of lighted houses as possible, and dodged
behind trees and hedges when shadowy figures appeared on the road or
carriage-wheels were heard in the distance. At their special destination
they were sure to be entirely safe. Old Mr. Peter Van Ness always
retired very early. To be sure, he did not go to sleep until late, and
read in bed, but his room was in the rear of the house on the second
floor, and all the windows, besides, were dark. Mr. Peter Van Ness was
a very wealthy elderly gentleman, very benevolent. He had given the
village a beautiful stone church with memorial windows, a soldiers'
monument, a park, and a home for aged couples, called "The Van Ness
Home." Mr. Van Ness lived alone with the exception of a housekeeper and
a number of old, very well-disciplined servants. The servants always
retired early, and Mr. Van Ness required the house to be quiet for his
late reading. He was a very studious old gentleman.

To the Van Ness house, set back from the street in the midst of a
well-kept lawn, the three repaired, but not as noiselessly as they could
have wished. In fact, a light flared in an up-stairs window, which was
wide open, and one woman's voice was heard in conclave with another.

"I should think," said the first, "that the lawn was