“It’s a long ride, and if we do get away I’m not afraid that Neville will find us, for we are small and can hide easy, Jo,” Jean said, and Marie Josephine smiled faintly. She had no pocket handkerchief and so rubbed her sleeve across her eyes. “How stupid I am to cry. We must do something at once, Jean. We—but what can we do?” Jean ran over to the window and looked out. He tugged at the knob, for the window shut like a small door. Marie Josephine came up to him and when he tired of tugging at it she tried to move it. It was a little swollen by recent dampness, but after Jean tugged the second time it gave, swung open, and the fresh morning air greeted them. Something else greeted them, too. It was the sweet pink and whiteness of the apple tree. Jean leaned way out on the window ledge and looked around, his eyes shining excitedly. Then he turned and faced Marie Josephine. “It’s risky, but I think there’s a chance that we can reach the tree. The eave’s trough, don’t you see, holding on to the roof where it curves down!” he said. She leaned way over and peered up at the low roof and then down at the eave’s trough. It curved down and ran straight across the side of the mill, just below them. There was not a moment to lose, for the woman would be coming back soon for the tray. “We can try. But Flambeau! We can’t leave him. Could he, do you think—would he follow us?” Jean nodded. “I believe he would, and there’s no other way. Yes, I know he would, for he’s always followed us everywhere. I’ll go first, then you, and you’ll see that he’ll come. He can balance well. And oh, yes, don’t you remember the time he walked the ledge of the summer house when we were playing ship?” Jean whispered eagerly but softly. Marie Josephine nodded. “You go and I’ll follow,” she whispered back. Jean turned toward the table. “The bread, Jo! You said you had money for food, and we need the bread.” Marie Josephine felt in her pocket and drew out a bag. In it were some coins and she put one on the table. Then she handed the loaf to Jean and he put it inside his blouse, buttoning his jacket over it. He jumped up on the sill and, turning carefully, reached up and caught the overhanging ledge of the roof. Then he cautiously put one foot along the ledge, drawing the other up to it, and in that way made slow but sure progress toward the welcoming branches of the tree. Marie Josephine listened carefully, her eyes on Jean. When Jean was safe she turned and put her hand on Flambeau’s head.