On the next day Will wrote another letter to his cousin, in which he invited him to come and pay them a visit. He gave a rambling explanation of the “essay,”—which, he thought, would not only puzzle, but also astound, poor Henry—and avoided mentioning his school-fellows at all. In fact, he had resolved in his mind that hereafter, in writing letters, he would confine himself to the matter in hand, and not discourse on the virtues and vices, the wisdom and folly, of his school-fellows. As for the plot, he said simply that they had “a game on foot,” filling up his letter by giving an interesting record of the weather for the past month, and a touching account of a lump on his horse’s hind leg.

Will posted his letter with a light heart, feeling that his presentiments must have related to the exchanged composition, and that now all would be well.

In the eloquent words of sundry novelists: “It was well for him that he could not look into the future.”

The holidays had now begun, and, as was said above, the plotters spent a great part of their time in fitting up the deserted house, which was to be the scene of their comedy—or tragedy, as the event should prove.

Having done this, the plotters, Jim included, again assembled in solemn council, to deliberate on certain features of their plot. They wished to make themselves thoroughly acquainted with all the details, so that everything should work smoothly.

“Now, when Henry comes,” said Will, “we must meet him at the station, and keep him out of Marmaduke’s sight till he sees him in the ‘Wigwam’ as the captive. Marmaduke will be all unprepared, and will take him for the captive without a doubt.”

“Yes,” Charles assented; “but will Henry consent to be rigged out as a French captive?”

“Oh, he will have to do that,” said Will; “he will have to do whatever we tell him; and we shall have to do[283] whatever he tells us. Oh, we shall work together just like a—a—like a—”

“Like the works of a clock,” suggested Steve, never at a loss for a simile, however inapt it might be.

“Well,” Charles observed, “let us make a being of straw, or old clothes, to look like a discomfited tramp in effigy, and then hang him out of a window up-stairs. Marmaduke will take it for the persecuting captor, of course. And besides, we shall want something to do while Henry and Marmaduke are rescuing each other. This is your idea, Steve,” he added, “and I give you all the credit for it.”

All the plotters were in favor of doing this, and so that question was settled.

Jim—who bore the plotters a grudge for not having acquainted him with their designs till forced to do so—was suddenly struck with a peculiarly “bright” idea. He said nothing to them, but chuckling grimly to himself, he muttered fiendishly: “It would serve ’em right, I guess, anyway!”

Stephen was suddenly struck with a horrible fear; he gasped faintly: “Boys!—say, boys! Oh, dear! Boys, won’t the French young lady be supposed to speak in her own language? And how could Marmaduke understand that?—that is, if Henry could speak it right along?”

The plotters were appalled. With consternation in every face, they stared at each other in utter hopelessness, whilst their beloved plot tottered on its foundations.

But presently the Sage, with his customary philosophy, came to the rescue. Said he: “Look here, boys, all that is necessary is to have the captor and the wicked jailers teach the beautiful captive to speak English, broken English, a little. Alas, it seems to me that this captive will be an endless trouble to us, and I think Henry will wish himself himself again. Yes, I shall be glad when its all over.”

“Never mind;” said Stephen. “Now, this broken English will settle that question; but, Will, can Henry speak broken—I mean cracked—English?”

“Of course he can,” said Will confidently; “he can do anything.”

[284]

The self-styled conspirators breathed freely, for their plot was now established on a firm foundation.

The work of fashioning a “being” progressed rapidly; and the day before Henry arrived they put the finishing touches to an object that was a monstrosity indeed. If the curious reader wishes to know what this object, or “being,” or monstrosity, looked like, let him turn to the picture of the fourth giant in his baby brother’s “handsomely illustrated” “Jack the Giant-Killer.” The resemblance between that giant and this “being” is striking.

Yes; they had hit upon their vocation at last; and if they should remove to the haunts of savages in the Polynesian islands, or in the unexplored regions of Africa, and set up in business as idol-makers, their fame and fortune would soon be an accomplished fact.

But this story drags already; so let it be sufficient to add that the “impostor,” as they fondly called it, was lovingly and secretly conveyed to the lone house, and hidden away till it should be needed.

Thus time passed with the plotters. They often had great difficulty in keeping all their movements and plans a secret from Marmaduke; more than once he came upon them in their journeys to and fro, and it was only by using the greatest tact that they prevented him from following them to the old building.

Poor Marmaduke! he was at a loss to know why the boys should act in so strange a manner. He would come upon them sometimes, seated, and talking earnestly; but the moment they caught sight of him, all were silent. At last he began to think that he had offended them in some way—how, he could not guess. However, the time when he should be rudely awakened was at han............