t you to do something for me."

"Yes, Miss Myra."

"It may get you into trouble. I want you to fetch the short ladder from
under the linhay, and fix it against the window here, without making a
noise."

For a moment he made no answer. But he had understood; for she heard him
walking away toward the linhay, and by and by he returned panting, and
sloped the ladder against the sill as she bade him. By this time Myra had
found a plateful of biscuits, and crammed her pocket full, and was ready
to descend.

"But what is the meaning of it?" asked Archelaus, as she clambered down to
him.

"They have stolen away Clem, and this morning they locked me in. Now take
the ladder back and hang it in its place, and I will thank you for ever
and ever."

"But I don't understand!" protested Archelaus. "Stolen away Master Clem?
Who has stolen him? And what are you going to do?"

"I am going to find him--that's all," said Myra, and ran off into the
darkness.

She could reckon on two friends in the world--Mr. Benny and Tom
Trevarthen. Aunt Hannah was far away, and Miss Marvin (though now
forgiven, and indeed worshipped for having interfered to protect Clem from
his flogging) could not be counted on for effective help.

Tom Trevarthen and Mr. Benny--it was on Tom that she pinned her hope; for
Tom (she had heard) was shipped on board the _One-and-All_ schooner; and
the _One-and-All_ was ready to sail for London; and somewhere near
London--so the paper in her pocket had told her--lay the dreadful place in
which Clem was hidden. She could find the vessel; the _One-and-All_ was
moored--or had been moored last night--at the buoy under the hill, ready
for sea. But to find the vessel and to find Tom Trevarthen were two very
different things. To begin with, Tom would be useless unless she
contrived to speak with him alone; to row straight to the schooner and
hail her would spoil all. Moreover, on the night before sailing he would,
most likely, be enjoying himself ashore. But where? Peter Benny might be
able to tell. Peter Benny had a wonderful knack of knowing the movements
of every seaman in the port.

She ran down the dark street to the alley over which poor Nicky Vro's
signboard yet glimmered in the light of the oil lamp at the entrance.
The cottage still lacked a tenant, and it had been nobody's business to
take the board down. On the frape at the alley's end his ferryboat lay
moored as he had left it. Myra tugged at t