voice.

"I can't say. But on your life, lad, not a word of them!"

After work was done for the evening, Jeph and Stead were too eager to
know what had happened to stay at home. They ran across the bit of
moorland to the village street and the grey church, whose odd-shaped
steeple stood up among the trees. Already they could see that the
great west window was broken, all the glass which bore the picture of
the Last Judgment, and the Archangel Michael weighing souls in the
balance was gone!

"Yes," said Tom Oates, leaping over two or three tombstones to get to
them. "'Twas rare sport, Jeph Kenton. Why were you not there too?"

"At Bristol with father," replied Jeph.

"Worse luck for you. The red coat shot the big angel right in the
eye, and shivered him through, and we did the rest with stones. I
sent one that knocked the wing of him right off. You should have
seen me, Stead! And old Clerk North was running about crying all the
time like a baby. He'll never whack us over the head again!"

"What was the good?" said Steadfast.

"You never saw better sport," said the boys.

And indeed, since, when once begun, destruction and mischief are apt
to be only too delightful to boys, they had thoroughly and
thoughtlessly delighted in knocking down the things they had been