The approach to the house was along an unscreened path that led across the arable land. Between the path and the house was the orchard in which stood the tree with its coveted treasure. The trouble was that Mrs. Pigott's window overlooked the orchard, and she was always in that window--so much Alf, in his many reconnaissances of the position, discovered. Now it was well known in the school that Mrs. Pigott had but one eye, and that of glass, which accounted perhaps for its extraordinary powers of vision. And besides Mrs. Pigott with her one sharp eye, there was Mrs. Pigott's little dog with his many sharp teeth. There was also in the background Mr. Pigott, who, outside the chapel, was athletic and regrettably fierce. Alf waited long for his opportunity, in terror lest the tree should be beaten before he had worked his will upon it, but his chance came at last. One Saturday afternoon he and Ern were loitering in Church Street, marching along with the starts and stops, the semi-innocent and semi-surreptitious manner of boys waiting for Satan to enter into them and prompt them to definite action, when Alf dug his brother with a warning elbow. Mrs. Pigott was staring with her glass eye into the ironmonger's opposite the church. On her arm was a basket and at her feet her dog. It was clear that she was doing her week-end shopping. Alf, swift to seize his opportunity, set off up the hill, hot-foot, silent, with a bustle of arms and legs, his brow puckered as he concentrated ruthlessly upon his purpose. Ern followed the fierce, insistent, little figure more leisurely. "Steady on!" he called. "Where away then?" "Walnut-tree," panted Alf. "Now's yer chance." Ern, who knew from experience that the dirty and dangerous work would fall to his lot, lagged. "Mr. Pigott's there," he grumbled. "Now he ayn't then," cried Alf, spurring the laggard on. "He's gone over to Lewes for the Conference. Didn't you hear mother at breakfast?" There had been in truth a split in the chapel. The Established Methodists were breaking away from the Foundation Methodists, and the Primitive Methodists were thinking of following suit. The little community was therefore a tumult of warring tongues. Alf led up the hill, past the chalk-pit, along the side of the Downs, and dropped down on his objective from the rear. Coming to the fence that ran round the orchard, he peeped at the low house lying in the background under the green flank of the hill. Ern followed reluctantly, as one drawn to his doom by a fate he cannot withstand. He wanted the walnuts; he wanted to be brave; but he liked Mr. Pigott, and, usually obedient to his brother's suggestions, had qualms in this case. "Go on then!" urged Alf. It was a favourite phrase of his. "There ayn't no one there." "Come on yourself," answered Ern without enthusiasm. "Now, I'll stay and watch the path for you against her," piped Alf. But for once Ern was firm.