here was no one in the parsonage except the cat, and
at the Homestead there was only the housekeeper, who was deaf as Dagon,
well they knew. The other servants had leave to go to meeting; every
one went that could, as I said. Tom knew his way all over the Homestead,
our house being next door. No, it's not there now. It was burned down
fifty years ago, and Tom's dead as long. They took our old horse and
wagon, and they slipped in at the window of the squire's study, took out
his things,--his desk and chair, his footstool, the screen he always
kept between him and the fire, and dear knows what all,--and loaded them
up on the wagon. They worked twice as hard at that imp's doing as they
would at honest work, you may be bound. Then they drove down to the
parsonage with the load, and tried round till they found a window
unfastened, and in they carried every single thing, into the elder's
study, and then loaded up with his rattletraps, and back to the
Homestead. Working like beavers they were, every minute of the
afternoon. By five o'clock they had their job done; and then in goes
Tom and asks dear old Grandmother Darracott, who could not leave her
room, and thought every fox was a cosset lamb, did she think father and
mother (they were at the meeting too, of course) would let him and Sol
Candy go and take tea and spend the night at Plum-tree Farm, three miles
off, where our old nurse lived. Grandmother said 'Yes, to be sure!' for
she was always pleased when the children remembered Nursey; so off those
two Limbs went, and left their works behind them.

"Evening came, and Conference was over at last; and here comes the
squire home, stepping along proud and stately as ever, but mortal
head-weary under the pride of his wig, for he was an old man, and
grudged his age, never sparing himself. He went straight into his
study--it was dusk by now--and dropped into the first chair, and so to
sleep. By and by old Martha came and lighted the candles, but she never
noticed anything. Why people's wits should wear out like old shoes is a
thing I never could understand; unless they're made of leather in the
first place, and sometimes it seems so. The squire had his nap out, I
suppose, and then he woke up. When he opened his eyes, there in front of
him, instead of his tall mahogany desk, was a ramshackle painted thing,
with no handles to the drawers, and all covered with ink. He looked
round, and what does he see but strange things everywhere;