They went across the churchyard--it was quite dark now--and as they went they talked. The Vicar was certain a lunatic was on the church-tower--the one who had written the mad letter, and taken the cold tongue and things. Andrew thought it was a "trap"; the cook's cousin alone was calm. "Great cry, little wool," said he; "dangerous chaps is quieter." He was not at all afraid. But then he had a gun. That was why he was asked to lead the way up the worn, steep, dark steps of the church-tower. He did lead the way, with the lantern in one hand and the gun in the other. Andrew went next. He pretended afterwards that this was because he was braver than his master, but really it was because he thought of traps and he did not like the idea of being behind the others for fear someone should come softly up behind him and catch hold of his legs in the dark. They went on and on, and round and round the little corkscrew staircase--then through the bell-ringers' loft, where the bell-ropes hung with soft furry ends like giant caterpillars--then up another stair into the belfry, where the big quiet bells are--and then on up a ladder with broad steps--and then up a little stone stair. And at the top of that there was a little door. And the door was bolted on the stair side. The cook's cousin, who was a gamekeeper, kicked at the door, and said-- "Hullo, you there!" The children were holding on to each other on the other side of the door, and trembling with anxiousness--and very hoarse with their howls. They could hardly speak, but Cyril managed to reply huskily-- "Hullo, you there!" "How did you get up there?" It was no use saying "We flew up," so Cyril said-- "We got up--and then we found the door was locked and we couldn't get down. Let us out--do." "How many of you are there?" asked the keeper. "Only four," said Cyril. "Are you armed?" "Are we what?" "I've got my gun handy--so you'd best not try any tricks," said the keeper. "If we open the door, will you promise to come quietly down, and no nonsense?" "Yes--oh YES!" said all the children together. "Bless me," said the Vicar, "surely that was a female voice?" "Shall I open the door, sir?" said the keeper. Andrew went down a few steps, "to leave room for the others" he said afterwards. "Yes," said the Vicar, "open the door. Remember," he said through the keyhole, "we have come to release you. You will keep your promise to refrain from violence?" "How this bolt do stick," said the keeper; "anyone 'ud think it hadn't been drawed for half a year." As a matter of fact it hadn't. When all the bolts were drawn, the keeper spoke deep-chested words through the keyhole. [Illustration: The keeper spoke deep-chested words through the keyhole] "I don't open," said he, "till you've gone over to the other side of the tower. And if one of you comes at me I fire. Now!" "We're all over on the other side," said the voices.