old shawl that decorated the floor of the chariot. He next groped his
way in the dim light toward a mantelshelf, and took down a
savings-bank,--a florid little structure with "Bank of England" stamped
over the miniature door, into which the jovial gentleman who frequented
the house often slipped pieces of silver for the children, and into
which Flossy dipped only when she was in a state of temporary financial
embarrassment. Timothy did not dare to jingle it; he could only hope
that as Flossy had not been in her usual health of late (though in more
than her usual "spirits"), she had not felt obliged to break the bank.

Now for provisions. There were plenty of "funeral baked meats" in the
kitchen; and he hastily gathered a dozen cookies into a towel, and
stowed them in the coach with the other sinews of war.

So far, well and good; but the worst was to come. With his heart beating
in his bosom like a trip-hammer, and his eyes dilated with fear, he
stepped to the door between the two rooms, and opened it softly. Two
thundering snores, pitched in such different keys that they must have
proceeded from two separate sets of nasal organs, reassured the boy. He
looked out into the alley. "Not a creature was stirring, not even a
mouse." The Minerva Courtiers couldn't be owls and hawks too, and there
was not even the ghost of a sound to be heard. Satisfied that all was
well, Timothy went back to the bedroom, and lifted the battered
clothes-basket, trucks and all, in his slender arms, carried it up the
alley and down the street a little distance, and deposited it on the
pavement beside a vacant lot. This done, he sped back to the house. "How
beautifully they snore!" he thought, as he stood again on the threshold.
"Shall I leave 'em a letter?... P'raps I better ... and then they won't
follow us and bring us back." So he scribbled a line on a bit of torn
paper bag, and pinned it on the enemies' door.