She ran to the closet and mounted a short ladder; from the space between the ceiling and the roof she dragged down a bundle and flung it upon the bedroom floor. Then she worked rapidly. The bundle consisted of a suit of boy’s clothes made of rough fustian. It represented all the money earned and given since she had lived with Mrs. Lane. Jack Martin had procured the outfit, never asking a question about the strange purchase, though at the time he was consumed with curiosity. For a month it had lain in its hiding place, having been brought forth once or twice at midnight, and donned in silence, that Debby might know the unholy joy of making believe she was a boy. She now dropped her trim gown and skirts upon the floor, and drew on the rough suit. Up went the curly brown hair under a three cornered hat, and lo! in the soft gloaming stood as sturdy and brave a lad as one need wish to see. “And now!” laughed Miss Debby doubling her fists at an unseen foe, “come on you old cat of a Mistress Knowles, there is another rascal in town to-night who would like nothing better than to close your eyes for a week or so!” CHAPTER III. ALL THAT WAS LEFT OF DEBBY. It was no great thing for Debby to clamber from her bedroom window to the ground below. She had done it more than once with her skirts on; in this approved apparel anything seemed possible, anything but being a lady. That hope was done with forever. She had crossed the line now. Before her lay—she hardly knew what—but the thought chased the fun from her face. Ah! Debby, misguided little maid, as you turned your back on what your dead mother had wished you to be, she was perhaps nearer to you than ever before. With tears filling her dark eyes, the girl fled along. Down the long hill and across the meadow which lay behind the old deserted log house and divided it from the woodland. And there at the edge of the woods stood Jack Martin awaiting his belated comrade. He saw the boy approaching and was filled with alarm at the sight. If Debby came now how were they to get out of the scrape? “Hello!” he shouted to the oncoming stranger, “whither away so fast?” “On the King’s business,” panted the boy as he drew near. Jack gasped. “Your name?” he faltered, “and pray what business have you with me?” [Illustration: _Molly._ “It was no great thing to clamber to the ground below.”] “Robert Shirtliffe is my name, gaby, and I arrest you in the name of King George the Third as a traitor to your country and for trying to corrupt the mind of one Mistress Deborah Mason, a young and innocent maid!” “My God!” gasped Jack, and sank upon the Autumn leaves at his feet. Then such a peal of laughter rent the air that the birds stirred in their nests.