one behind and one before at the
handle-stick. Away we went, as had been preconcerted between us in the
stable-yard of another schoolfellow of ours in the plot, who placed it
near the gate and covered it over with loose straw, so that no one
could see it.

The next evening, which was the fourth of November, we met again by
appointment at the dark hollow of the churchyard. This meeting was for
the purpose of determining about the way in which Dame Clackett should
be dressed in her triumphal entry to the Town Hall, the place where
the bonfires were usually made. Hardy had brought what was of
essential service--namely, an old coat which had formerly belonged to
his father when in the yeomanry cavalry, an old helmet, a
cartridge-box, and a pair of boots.

"We shall never get the boots on," said I.

Another boy brought an old lantern with the horn burnt out, a third a
bunch of matches; then there was a mask and a lath-sword and a drum,
with sticks and straw in abundance. They were all deposited in the
same place with the chair. The conspirators (for conspirators we were)
then made a promise to each other not to split, as they call it--that
is, not to betray each other, and to go through with our work like
_Britons;_ so we all shook hands and parted.

The next morning was a holiday, and we were up betimes. After a
consultation it was determined that I and Quidd should go to the old
dame and see how she was, and if she was determined to go to church,
and if there would be any difficulty to get her to accept of the
convenience of our vehicle; so off we set. In less than half-an-hour
we reached the old dame's cottage, and found her at that very moment
dressing her foot.

Quidd was the first who spoke.

"Good morning, Goody," said he. "What, is not your foot well yet?
Why, I hear you have not been to church lately. The curate was at
father's last night, and said if you were so lame that you could not
walk, you might have our easy four-wheeled chair. But I suppose you
won't go to church to-day--it is only the fifth of November?"

"Not go to church!" said the old woman--"not go to church! I have
always gone on the fifth of November for forty years. My poor husband
was in a French prison, and he knew well enough what the Jacobites
are. Was he not blown up, poor fellow, in the 'Glorious?' and were not
King James and all his people to have been blown up so high by the
horrid Papist plot that I suppose they would not have bee