“Then I’ll let you in through that side-door in the basement,” said Bar. “You keep the machine.” “But how’ll you get in?” “Lightning-rod,” replied Bar. “It goes up close by one of the second story windows, and that has no fastening.” “Is it strong enough?” “Plenty. That’s the way the village boys got in. One of ’em left the mark of his heel deep in the grass at the bottom. Must have slipped and come down hard.” “You’re a detective!” said Val. It would have done the heart of Zeb Fuller good, if it had not revolutionized his views concerning “those two boarders,” if he had seen the practiced skill and agility with which Bar Vernon went up that lightning-rod. “It’s equal to his billiards,” thought Val. Yes, and it had been learned very much in the same way, during some of the queer episodes of his “old time.” The window was opened and Bar disappeared, shutting it carefully and silently behind him, while Val hurried around to the basement door. That, too, was speedily unbarred, and Val and his machine admitted. “What are you barring it behind us for?” asked Val. “Don’t want any accidents,” Bar began, and then he added, “Hush, we’re not inside here a minute too soon.” Indeed they were not, for one of the Academy trustees, unable to be easy in his mind over the events of the previous night, had come out for a scouting expedition of his own. Slowly, with heavy and circumspect tread, the good citizen was making his rounds of the old edifice, and now he carefully tried the fastenings of that lower door and peered anxiously in through the curtainless windows. Very still kept the two adventurers, and both felt an unusually active pumping at their hearts, until they were sure that every door and window within his reach had been examined by the careful trustee, and that he had taken his satisfied departure. “Now, Val,” said Bar, “we’re safe enough. Come on.” Up they went, first into the main hall, then into the second story, then up the creaking and short-turning flight of steps which led to the lower deck of the steeple bell-tower. “This west window,” said Bar, “towards the roof, is just the thing for our windmill. The wind has a clean sweep across the deck, for there isn’t a bit of sash all around.” “There used to be, in winter,” said Val, “but I s’pose they think this deck is roof enough.” “So it is,” said Bar, as he worked steadily and rapidly away, “but nobody can see this west window from the ground, unless they get over into the graveyard back of the sheds.” “I don’t understand it quite yet,” said Val. “Even if the wind works it, how’ll it ring the bell?”