Her companion made her no reply; but leaned on every little cross-bar,
which cracked and gave way beneath her. Then she pressed with all her
strength against the shutter. She had thought the wooden buttons would
give way, but by the clinking sound she knew that the iron bar had been put
across. She was quite quiet for a time. Clambering down, she took from
the table a small one-bladed penknife, with which she began to peck at the
hard wood of the shutter.
"What are you doing now?" asked Em, who had ceased crying in her wonder,
and had drawn near.
"Trying to make a hole," was the short reply.
"Do you think you will be able to?"
"No; but I am trying."
In an agony of suspense Em waited. For ten minutes Lyndall pecked. The
hole was three-eighths of an inch deep--then the blade sprung into ten
pieces.
"What has happened now?" Em asked, blubbering afresh.
"Nothing," said Lyndall. "Bring me my nightgown, a piece of paper, and the
matches."
Wondering, Em fumbled about till she found them.
"What are you going to do with them?" she whispered.
"Burn down the window."
"But won't the whole house take fire and burn down too?"
"Yes."
"But will it not be very wicked?"
"Yes, very. And I do not care."
She arranged the nightgown carefully in the corner of the window, with the
chips of the frame about it.
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