"Indeed you won't, Billy Gaston. You just drink that every drop. I'll
get you another bottle to take with you. I got extra last night 'count
of Mark being home, and then he didn't drink it. He always likes a
drink of milk last thing before he goes to bed."

She vanished and returned with a quart of milk cold off the ice. She
wrapped it well with newspapers, and Billy packed it safely into the
little basket on his wheel. Then he bethought him of another need.

"Say, m'y I go inta the g'rage an' get a screw driver? Screw loose on
m'wheel."

She nodded and he vanished into the open barn door. Well he knew where
Mark kept his tools. He picked out a small pointed saw, a neat little
auger and a file and stowed them hurriedly under the milk bottle. Thus
reinforced without and within, he mounted his faithful steed and sped
away to the hills.

The morning sun had shot up several degrees during his delay, and
Sabbath Valley lay like a thing new born in its glory. On the belfry a
purple dove sat glistening, green and gold ripples on her neck, turning
her head proudly from side to side as Billy rode by, and when he topped
the first hill across the valley the bells rang out six sweet strokes
as if to remind him that Sunday School was not far off and he must
hurry back. But Billy was trying to think how he should get into that
locked house, and wondering whether the kidnappers would have returned
to feed their captive yet. He realized that he must be wary, although
his instinct told him that they would wait for dark, besides, he had
hopes that they might have been "pinched."