He was gone. He had absolutely no idea of their presence. The first of the delicious thrills had begun. The Lieutenant, from his post behind the barn door, could have leaned out and touched him, but he had no idea. From that moment the scenery changed. The yard was enchanted ground, the buildings strange and doubtful, the stretches between haven and haven full of dangers. Presently three soft whistles broke the silence. They glided out around the barn, and scaled the first fence. The Head Captain stopped to caution, the Lieutenant became hopelessly complicated in his sash, so the Vicar got over first. Though plump, she was light on her feet, and had been known to push the others over in her nervous haste; she threw herself upon a solid board fence in an utterly reckless way, striking the top flat on her stomach, and sliding, slipping down the other side. Her method, thoroughly ridiculous and unscientific as it was, invariably succeeded, and she usually waited a few seconds for them after picking herself up. When one climbs after the most approved fashion, employing as few separate motions as possible, making every one tell, the result of such slippery, panting scrambles as the Vicar’s is particularly irritating. The success of the amateur is never pardonable. [Illustration: “_She threw herself over a solid board fence in an utterly reckless way._”] “Which way, Head Captain?” A dusty forefinger indicated the neighboring barn. “Secret way or door?” “Secret way.” They cast hurried glances about them: nobody was in sight. At the corner of the barn the Lieutenant again performed scout duty, and his three whistles brought them to a back entrance hardly noticeable to the chance explorer of stable yards—a low door into a disused cow-house. Softly they stole in, softly peeped into the barn. It lay placid and empty, smelling of leather and hay and horses, with barrels of grain all about, odd bits of harness, and tins of wagon grease, wisps of straw, and broken tools scattered over the floor. Broad bands of sunlight streaked everything. They crept through a lane of barrels, and mounted a rickety stair, heart in mouth. Who might be at the top? A moment’s pause, and then the Head Captain nodded. “All right, men,” he breathed. They went carefully through the thick hay that strewed the upper floor, avoiding the cracks and pits that loosened boards and decayed planking offered the unwary foot. With unconscious directness the Lieutenant turned to the great pile of hay that usually marked the end of this expedition, but the Head Captain frowned and passed by the short ladder that led to the summit. He pushed through an avenue of old machinery, crawled over two old sleighs and under a grindstone frame, and emerged into a dim, almost empty corner.