Do get up, there's a good fellow."

"Howwid waw morning," groaned Braintree. "I'd warthah--oh, vewy well,
I'll get up."

And with a great effort he struggled out of bed and began to array
himself. Bowler had a similar task with each of the other adventurers,
and any leader less sanguine or eager might have felt his ardour damped
by the evident want of alacrity on the part of his confederates to
respond to the call to action.

However, once up, the spirits of the party rose, and they assembled in
good-humour in Bowler's study, where by the dim light of a candle the
seven brown-paper parcels were solemnly doled out, and a final review of
the preparations made.

A few more articles, such as a whistle, a bottle of hair-oil
(contributed by Braintree), a shut-up inkpot and pen from Wester, and a
guide to the environs of Tunbridge Wells from Tubbs, were thrown into
the common lot at the last moment, and stuffed into the pockets of the
ulsters in which the boys had armed themselves against a rainy day.

All this being done, Bowler gave the order to march, which the party
obeyed by taking off their boots and crawling downstairs on tiptoe to
the front door. As silently as possible the great lock was turned and
the bolts drawn, and next moment the adventurers, with their boots in
one hand and their brown-paper parcels in the other, stood under the
stars.

"Now stick your boots on sharp and step out," said Bowler. The order
was promptly obeyed, and the dim gables of Swishford soon vanished
behind them as they sped along the cliffs towards Sound Bay.

It was a good three miles, and in their ulsters, and weighted with their
brown-paper parcels, the boys made slow progress. It was already dawn
when, rather fagged and not quite sure how they were enjoying it, they
reached the top of the path which led down to Sound Bay. The near
approach to their journey's end revived them, and they stumbled down the
stony path cheerily but cautiously, until at last they had the
satisfaction of seeing the boat bobbing up and down in the little
natural harbour close among the rocks.

The wily Bowler and Gayford had marked where the oars and sail were
kept, and fetched them in triumph from their hiding-place. The seven
brown-paper parcels were solemnly embarked and stowed away under the
seats, and then one by one the heroes of New Swishford stepped on board,
the painter was thrown loose, silent adieux were waved to the land of
their birt