LITMIR.BIZ

      ROBERT GAVE THE BOXROOM door a resounding kick, merely for his own satisfaction, for he knew that only the kick of a giant would have made any impression on its strong oak panels, and sat down cross-legged on the floor to consider the situation. Betsy was roaring in the bathroom, Timothy was yelling in the broom cupboard, Nan was sobbing in the linen room and Absolom was barking his head off in the small cupboard where the boots were kept. None of them could get out, for everything in this house locked firmly on insubordinate children. Grandmother said they were insubordinate; Father only thought them high-spirited. But it was what Grandmama thought that counted now, for Father had gone to Egypt, on his way back to India and his regiment, and they had to stay behind and live with Grandmama.

      They had no wish to live with her, for she was a very autocratic old lady, a grandmother of a type that was to be met with in 1912, the date of this story, but is now extinct. She believed that children should be instantly obedient and she did not like dogs. She said that Absolom had fleas and must be given away, and if that was not enough, she had arranged for Robert and Nan to go to boarding school while her companion Miss Bolt taught Timothy and Betsy at home. The children were in despair. They did not want to be educated and they did not want to be separated, either from each other or Absolom.

      Robert listened. He was not disturbed by Betsy’s roars, for she liked roaring and there was a window in the bathroom, but Timothy’s yells had a hysterical note. It was dark in the broom cupboard and he didn’t like the dark. Nan’s sobs he could not actually hear, for she was a quiet person, but he guessed she was sobbing. Absolom was now not only barking but hurling his body against the door of the boothole with resounding thuds. It’s like the Bastille, thought Robert.

      And then suddenly he knew what they would do and it was so simple that he wondered he had not thought of it before. Escape. People always escaped from prison if they could. The question was, could they? Robert was ten years old, stocky and strong, and he had a penknife, green eyes and red hair, and when a question like this presented itself to his mind he did not ask it twice. He had heaved a small tin trunk on top of a larger one, poised a hatbox on top and mounted to the summit while the question was still passing through his mind. The high window had not been opened for a long time and it was covered with ivy outside, but the penknife and obstinacy got it open and clear. To get himself off the hatbox and through it called for both agility and courage, and he was pleased

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