“Oh, dear, no. Don’t you know Mr. Wright, down at the chapel? He’s called the vicar. He really manages it, I think. Of course it’s not like being the rector——” “Chapel? Is that the only kind of vicker, like Mr. Wright?” “Why, of course not, silly! There are lots of different kinds.” “Oh!” and she retired, practising the word. The others were much impressed by her cleverness in discovering such a fascinating title. It savored of _wicked_ and _villain_, to begin with; and pursuing the advantage of their previous ignorance of it, she invented several privileges and perquisites of the office, which to deny would argue their lack of information on the subject, a thing she knew they would never own. One of these was the right to summon the band, when the Head Captain had decided on an expedition, to any meeting-place she saw fit; and though in a great many ways her superiors found her a nuisance, the Lieutenant in particular objecting in a nagging, useless sort of way to most of her suggestions, they could not but admit that her selection of mysterious, unsuspected _rendezvous_ was often brilliantly original. [Illustration: “_Crouching along beneath the perches._”] On one especial occasion, a warm afternoon late in June, when the houses and yards were all quiet, and the very dogs lay still in the shade, the Vicar led them softly to the chicken yard, mystified them by crawling through a broken glass frame into the covered roost, crouching along beneath the perches, and going out again by the legitimate door without stopping to speak. This effectually silenced the Lieutenant—the chicken house seemed an old ruse to him, and he was sniffing in preparation for the expression of his opinion. Out across the yard and twice around an enormous hogshead they walked solemnly. Such a prelude must mean a great _finale_, and the Head Captain felt decidedly curious. The Vicar paused, made a short detour for the purpose of getting two empty boxes, piled them one on the other, and lightly swung herself into the cask. A loud thud announced her safe arrival at the bottom, and flushed with delight at the incomparable secrecy of the thing, the Head Captain followed her. The Lieutenant, grumbling as usual, and very nearly hanging himself in his sash, which caught on the edge, tumbled after, and standing close together in the great barrel they grinned consciously at each other. The Head Captain broke the silence. “Are we all here?” he demanded, his voice waking strange and hollow echoes. “Yes!” replied the Vicar delightedly, bursting with pride. “Aye, aye!” said the Lieutenant with careful formality. “Then listen here!” the Head Captain spoke in a hoarse whisper. “This’ll be a diff’rent way. This is going to be the real thing. To-day _we’re going to steal_!” The Vicar gasped. “Really steal?” she whispered. “Steal what?” said the Lieutenant with a non-committal gruffness.