“Oh!  Sure.”

“There’s one in the rear I can smash.  We’ll get inside and light up.  I can open the door from that side, too.  Come on—­follow me.”  They turned the corner and followed the path so lately taken by Windomshire and Anne.  As they came to the back of the church they were startled and not a little alarmed by the sound of sudden scurrying and a well-defined imprecation, but it was too dark for them to distinguish any one.  While they were trying to effect an entrance through one of the windows, other mystified participants in the night’s affairs were looking on from secret and divers hiding-places.  Far out in the little grove Derby and his old companion watched the operations of the church-breakers, the sickly glare of Carpenter’s lantern as it stood upon the edge of the rain barrel affording an unholy light for the occasion.  Windomshire and Anne, crouching behind a stack of old benches, looked on in amazement.  Mr. Hooker, whose conscience was none too easy, doubtless for excellent reasons, peered forth from behind a tall tombstone.  He had arrived at the conclusion that he was being hounded down as a body-snatcher.

“This is a devil of a mess,” he muttered dolefully.  “If they catch me in this graveyard, I’ll have a hard time proving an alibi.  What an idiot I was to get into this thing!  I guess I’ll get out of it.  He’s got plenty of witnesses and I’ve got his ten dollars.”  He began sneaking off toward the extreme west end of the graveyard, bent on finding the road to town.  “Holy smoke!” stopping short.  “Another bunch of them coming!  I’m surrounded!” He dropped down behind a weed-covered mound and glared straight ahead.  Almost directly in his path a lantern wobbled and reeled slowly, finally bringing its bearer to the fence between the burying-ground and the churchyard.  A man carried the light and half carried the form of a woman besides.

“Brace up, Nell dear,” Mr. Hooker heard the newcomer say as tenderly as his exertions would allow.  “The worst is over.  Here’s the church.  Good Heavens, just think of being lost in a graveyard!”

“And climbing four fences and a tree,” moaned Eleanor Thursdale.  They had come up through the graveyard by mistake.

“It wasn’t a tree; it was a fence post.  Great Scot!  There’s no light in the church.  What’s up?  Wait here, dear, and I’ll investigate.”

“Alone?  Never!” she cried.  They climbed their fifth fence, notwithstanding the fact that a gate was near at hand.

“This is an awful pickle I’ve got you into.  You ought to hate me—­” he was groaning, but she checked him nobly.

“Hush, Joe, I love it,” she cried.

“You just wait and see how happy I’ll make you for this.”  He was about to kiss her rapturously, but the act was stayed by the sound of a shrill whistle, thrice given.  “There’s Jim Carpenter and Derby,” he exclaimed, and whistled in response.  A moment later Derby strolled up from the grove, followed by the chattering Mr. Van Truder.