“And you don’t think it’s any good waiting?—in case some help comes?” asked Miss Lydia wistfully. “Not a bit of good, I’m afraid,” said Molly gently. “It’s very unlikely that help will come—I think we must rely only on ourselves.” “Then I won’t fail you,” said Miss Lydia. They sat there, talking occasionally, until dusk fell. Then Molly went into Miss Lydia’s bedroom, and cautiously opened the window and looked out. There appeared to be no one watching this side of the house; if there was any one, it was too dark to see them, and so they would not be able to see her, Molly thought. She had strapped her little pocket satchel firmly across her shoulders, and just inside, where she could easily reach it, was Old Nancy’s box of matches. Fortunately there was a slight breeze blowing, so that any rustling of the trees, unless unusually loud, would not attract attention. Molly got out on to the window sill, and from there climbed as noiselessly as possible into the tree. Molly had had a good deal of experience in tree-climbing now, nevertheless she was trembling as she lowered herself down to the branches nearest the ground; it was not a nice sensation climbing down, when you didn’t know what was at the bottom. She waited for a while, and listened, peering out from among the leaves. Nothing stirred in the garden below. As far as she could make out, she had but to drop to the ground, run round the corner of the house along the path, or across the garden bed, and the Leaf was on the left-hand side, she remembered, close to a big tree, whose outline could be dimly seen. Molly waited, full of doubts and anxieties. After all, was this a wise plan to try? was it too simple to have any chance of success? What a long time Miss Lydia was. Supposing her courage failed at the last moment—well, who could blame her? It was such an easy thing for Miss Lydia to do, and yet such a hard thing. The Pumpkin was almost sure to catch her—poor Miss Lydia—but it would only be a momentary triumph; Molly would soon see that things were put right again—that is, if the Pumpkin did not catch Molly too. But Molly dared not think about that. She was strung up to such a pitch of nervous excitement that every second seemed like a whole minute, while she waited. How brave it would be of Miss Lydia if she did—But what a long time she was. Could anything have happened to her? Perhaps the Pumpkin had.... Hark! what was that! It was the sound of the back door bolts being withdrawn. Instantly there was a stir in the garden, and a subdued murmuring floated up to Molly’s ears. The back door was flung open noisily, and footsteps could be heard on the path. Molly got out her box of matches. The garden was now alive with whispering figures. Several moved quickly toward the back door; there was a scuffle; a scream; the sound of footsteps running, and a dull thud, thud; then the sound of many voices, calling, shouting directions, raised high as if in some dispute.