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.
"A kind Lady is goin to Adopt us it is
a Grate ways off so do not Hunt good by. TIM."
Now all was ready. No; one thing more. Timothy had been met in the
street by a pretty young girl a few weeks before.
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