The morning twilight was dim, my hands
were cold and feebler than my resolution. I had battered down a lot of
leaves and twigs, and two or three walnuts; the sun had got up at last,
but rather slowly, as if he found the morning chillier than he expected,
and a few rays were darting here and there across the lane, when Jem
gave a warning "Hush!" and I left off rustling in time to hear Mrs.
Wood's bedroom lattice opened, and to catch sight of something pushed
out into the morning mists.
"Who's there?" said the school-mistress.
Neither Jem nor I took upon us to inform her, and we were both seized
with anxiety to know what was at the window. He was too low down and I
too much buried in foliage to see clearly. Was it the rattle? I took a
hasty step downwards at the thought. Or was it the blunderbuss? In my
sudden move I slipped on the dew-damped branch, and cracked a rotten one
with my elbow, which made an appalling crash in the early stillness, and
sent a walnut--pop! on to Jem's hat, who had already ducked to avoid the
fire of the blunderbuss, and now fell on his face under the fullest
conviction that he had been shot.
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