There were windows enough. They were ranged in monotonous rows on all
sides of the church, above and below. They all had tiny old-fashioned
panes of glass and were fastened with wooden buttons. It was the work
of a minute to "unbutton" one of them and jump out.

"There!" breathed Jot in relief, as his toes touched sod again, "I feel
as if I'd been in prison and just got out."

"Broken out--that's the way I feel. I wish we could fasten the window
again," Old Tilly said thoughtfully.

Kent was rubbing his ankle ruefully.

"It was a joke on us, our mooning round that door all that time, and
thinking we were trapped!"

"Oh, well, come on; it doesn't matter, now we're free again."

"Come along--here are our wheels all right," Old Tilly said briskly.
"Let's go down to that little bunch of white houses there under the
hill, and pick out the one we want to stay over night in."

"The one that wants us to stay in it, you mean! Come on, then."

It was already mid-afternoon. The beautiful Sunday peace that broods
over New England's country places rested softly on new-mown fields and
bits of pasture and woods. The boys' hearts were made tender by the
service they had so unexpectedly attended, and as the beauty of the
scene recalled again the home fields, they fell into silence. A tiny,