By slanting the ironing board, he managed to get its broad end out through the window.  Then he dropped it flat, with its narrow end held firmly under the projecting drawer.

Andy got flat on the board, squirmed along it, and just managed to squeeze through the window space.

At the end of five minutes he found himself extended outside on the board.  A touch might throw it out of position and drop him like a shot.  Very carefully he arose to his feet and backed against the clapboards of the house.

Andy felt sideways and up over his head.  He soon located what he knew to be there—­two lightning rod staples.  The rod itself had rusted away.  The staples had been used to hold up a vine.  This drew bugs, Miss Lavinia declared, and had been torn down.

Andy hooked his finger around one of the staples.  He got one foot on the window sill clear of the board.  The other foot he lifted in the air.

Stooping and getting a hold on the side of the ironing board, Andy gently slid it out from its holding place and upright.

He brought it and himself erect.  Moving up his hand, he transferred its grasp to the second iron staple higher up the side of the house.

Now Andy rested the board on his toes.  He clasped it like a shield against his body, its broad end nearest his face.

Beyond its edge he took a keen glance.  The moon shone brightly.  The nearest object it showed was a high, broad-branched thorn apple tree.

It stood about twelve feet from the house, and its top was perhaps as far below his foothold.

“It’s my only show,” said Andy.  “I’ve got to coast it, or get all torn up.”

He let go his hold of the staple.  Instantly he had a hand firmly grasping either side of the ironing board Andy dropped to a past-centre slant.

Giving his feet a prodigious push against the window sill, he shot forward and downward.

For an instant Andy sailed through the air.  He feared he might dive short of the tree.  He hoped he would land flat.

The latter by luck or his own precision he did.  The board struck the tree top.

There was a sliding swish, a vast cracking of branches.

His weight dropped one end of the ironing board.  It landed against a big branch, and Andy found himself safely anchored in the tree top.

CHAPTER IX

GOOD-BYE TO FAIRVIEW

Looking back at the attic window, Andy Wildwood wondered how he had ever made the successful descent.

Any boy lacking his sense of athletic precision would have scored a dangerous fall.  Andy now slowly worked his way down thrown the branches of the tree.  He got a few sharp scratches, but was vastly pleased with himself when he landed safely on the ground.

“Good-bye to Fairview!” he spoke with a stimulating sense of freedom, waving his hand across the scene in general.  “I may not come back rich or famous, but I shall have seen the world.”