Townsend, delighted with the bustle, rubbed his hands, and capered about the room, whilst the preparations for the feast were hurried forward. “Four candles!—Four candles on the table. Let’s have things in style when we are about it, Mr. Manager,” cried Townsend. “Places!—Places! There’s nothing like a fair scramble, my boys. Let everyone take care of himself. Hallo! Greybeard, I’ve knocked Greybeard down here in the scuffle. Get up again, my lad, and see a little life.” “No, no,” cried Fisher, “he sha’n’t _sup_ with us.” “No, no,” cried the manager, “he shan’t _live_ with us; a Greybeard is not fit company for Archers.” “No, no,” cried Townsend, “evil communication corrupts good manners.” So with one unanimous hiss they hunted the poor little gentle boy into a corner; and having pent him up with benches, Fisher opened his books for him, which he thought the greatest mortification, and set up a candle beside him—“There, now he looks like a Greybeard as he is!” cried they. “Tell me what’s the Latin for cold roast beef?” said Fisher, exultingly, and they returned to their feast. Long and loud they revelled. They had a few bottles of cider. “Give me the corkscrew, the cider sha’n’t be kept till it’s sour,” cried Townsend, in answer to the manager, who, when he beheld the provisions vanishing with surprising rapidity, began to fear for the morrow. “Hang to-morrow!” cried Townsend, “let Greybeards think of to-morrow; Mr. Manager, here’s your good health.” The Archers all stood up as their cups were filled to drink the health of their chief with a universal cheer. But at the moment that the cups were at their lips, and as Archer bowed to thank the company, a sudden shower from above astonished the whole assembly. They looked up, and beheld the rose of a watering-engine, whose long neck appeared through a trap door in the ceiling. “Your good health, Mr. Manager!” said a voice, which was known to be the gardener’s; and in the midst of their surprise and dismay the candles were suddenly extinguished; the trap-door shut down; and they were left in utter darkness. “The _Devil_!” said Archer. “Don’t swear, Mr. Manager,” said the same voice from the ceiling, “I hear every word you say.” “Mercy upon us!” exclaimed Fisher. “The clock,” added he, whispering, “must have been wrong, for it had not done striking when we began. Only, you remember, Archer, it had just done before you had done locking your door.” “Hold your tongue, blockhead!” said Archer. “Well, boys! were ye never in the dark before? You are not afraid of a shower of rain, I hope. Is anybody drowned?” “No,” said they, with a faint laugh, “but what shall we do here in the dark all night long, and all day to-morrow? We can’t unbar the shutters.” “It’s a wonder _nobody_ ever thought of the trap-door!” said Townsend.