“We shall never get the boots on,” said I.

Another boy brought an old lantern with the horn burnt out, a third a bunch of matches; then there was a mask and a lath-sword and a drum, with sticks and straw in abundance.  They were all deposited in the same place with the chair.  The conspirators (for conspirators we were) then made a promise to each other not to split, as they call it—­that is, not to betray each other, and to go through with our work like Britons; so we all shook hands and parted.

The next morning was a holiday, and we were up betimes.  After a consultation it was determined that I and Quidd should go to the old dame and see how she was, and if she was determined to go to church, and if there would be any difficulty to get her to accept of the convenience of our vehicle; so off we set.  In less than half-an-hour we reached the old dame’s cottage, and found her at that very moment dressing her foot.

Quidd was the first who spoke.

“Good morning, Goody,” said he.  “What, is not your foot well yet?  Why, I hear you have not been to church lately.  The curate was at father’s last night, and said if you were so lame that you could not walk, you might have our easy four-wheeled chair.  But I suppose you won’t go to church to-day—­it is only the fifth of November?”

“Not go to church!” said the old woman—­“not go to church!  I have always gone on the fifth of November for forty years.  My poor husband was in a French prison, and he knew well enough what the Jacobites are.  Was he not blown up, poor fellow, in the ‘Glorious?’ and were not King James and all his people to have been blown up so high by the horrid Papist plot that I suppose they would not have been down by this time?  No Popery, I say!  I would sooner crawl to church on my hands and knees than not go to-day, young gentlemen.  And then Mr. Hassock, the kind, good curate, to ask for me!”

“Yes, and then there is the ‘coal money’ given on the fifth, that all the widows in the parish may have a good fire through the winter, you know, Goody.”

“Yes, I must go to church,” said Mrs. Clackett.

“That you must,” said Quidd, “and I will tell you what these young gentlemen and I will do.  We will bring down the chair, and take you there ourselves.  I am sure it would please Mr. Hassock.  Would it not, Parley?”

“Yes, and the rector also,” said I.  “And I have no doubt but the churchwardens would like to see Goody at church, for the tickets for flannel petticoats are to be given away to-day.”

“What is that?” said Mrs. Clackett.  “Oh, yes, I could not keep away from my church!  Good young gentlemen, I shall never forget your kindness.”

We stopped to hear no more.  We were overjoyed with the success of our plot.  Away we ran to our companions, and, without stopping to explain, cried out: 

“The chair! the chair!  We shall have a guy, the best in the whole country!”