"It doesn't seem as if that wall could ever have been broken," said David in a low voice. "Was the window there?" "Yes," answered the squire. "There was a window there. But William Koehler was a fine plasterer. The window went almost from ceiling to floor." "We would have to have a pickaxe and other tools. And we would have to ask for permission to open it. And all Millerstown would have to know," said David. The squire pondered for an instant. "We would if we opened it from this side. But the Sunday School is built against the other side, and there there is only a little thin wainscoting to break through. It could be taken out and put back easily. There are tools here in the church somewhere." The squire returned to the vestibule and opened the door of a cupboard. "Here is a whole basket of tools. I do not like to make a light or every one will see. Millerstown is wonderful curious." The squire's light tone sounded strangely in the silence of the church, strangely to David and strangely to himself. "Don't you think, David"--the squire had his hand on the knob of the Sunday-School room door--"don't you think we had better wait till to-morrow?" "No," answered David. The squire passed on into the little Sunday-School room and David followed him. "It's brighter here." The squire measured the wainscoting with his eye. "The old window ought to be about here. Sit down, David." David obeyed, trembling. "I don't believe I could open it," said he. "Of course not!" answered the squire, cheerfully. "Do not worry, David. That silver has been melted this long time." The squire thrust a chisel into a crevice and lifted out a section of wainscoting, then another. When three or four narrow strips were removed, he thrust his hand into the aperture. The moonlight grew brighter as the moon cleared the upper boughs of the old cherry trees outside the Sunday-School building; it shone upon a curious scene, the old man at his strange task, the young man watching so eagerly. "There can't be anything here," said the squire, cheerfully. "There can't be. This might just as well be made into a book cupboard for the Sunday School; it is wasted space. It's queer we never thought of that. You see the church wall is four bricks thick here, and William's wall only one brick. It--" The squire ceased suddenly to speak. His exploring hand had only now reached the bottom of the deep hole; it came into contact with a substance different from the fallen rubble which he expected to touch. David heard his voice die away, saw him start. "What is it, sir?" "There is something here," answered the squire.