And he's got his gun, sir."

"Hullo there!" shouted Cyril from the church-tower; "come up and let us
out."

"We're a-coming," said Andrew. "I'm a-going to get a policeman and a
gun."

"Andrew, Andrew," said the Vicar, "that's not the truth."

"It's near enough, sir, for the likes of them."

So Andrew fetched the lantern and the cook's cousin; and the Vicar's
wife begged them all to be very careful.

They went across the churchyard--it was quite dark now--and as they went
they talked. The Vicar was certain a lunatic was on the
church-tower--the one who had written the mad letter, and taken the cold
tongue and things. Andrew thought it was a "trap"; the cook's cousin
alone was calm. "Great cry, little wool," said he; "dangerous chaps is
quieter." He was not at all afraid. But then he had a gun. That was why
he was asked to lead the way up the worn, steep, dark steps of the
church-tower. He did lead the way, with the lantern in one hand and the
gun in the other. Andrew went next. He pretended afterwards that this
was because he was braver than his master, but really it was because he
thought of traps and he did not like the idea of being behind the others
for fear someone should come softly up behind him and catch hold of his
legs in the dark. They went on and on, and round and round the little
corkscrew staircase--then through the bell-ringers' loft, where the
bell-ropes hung with soft furry ends like giant caterpillars--then up