The boys experienced little difficulty in gaining entrance to the church through the cellar window, and noiselessly made their way to the gallery, from which they ascended a frail ladder leading to a hatchway in the ceiling. On raising the scuttle, Sube, who up to this time had maintained a somewhat aggressive lead, suddenly remembered his manners.

"Why, here, Giz," he said in a self-deprecatory tone, "here I been crowdin' ahead all the time. I'll bet you'd like to go first part of the way." And he nimbly descended the ladder and stepped to one side.

But Gizzard, too, had observed the pitchy darkness ahead. He, also, had felt the draft of hot stuffy air that rushed out at the opening of the hatchway. "I'm follerin' all right, ain't I?" he demanded with equal courtesy.

"Yes, but I don't want—"

"Well, go on, then!"

He caught Sube by the shoulder and gave him a forceful but friendly shove towards the ladder. Sube placed a tentative foot on the bottom rung and then turned back most considerately.

"But I don't want to hog the lead all the time," he explained courteously.

However, Gizzard was not to be outdone in politeness. He urged Sube forward with the most elegant sort of gruffness. "Get up that there ladder!" he ordered. "I'm right on your heels!"

Sube submitted to the inevitable and took the lead. Once in the loft he was able to discern another ladder. At the top of this was a third. Then followed several more. At last came another hatchway that opened into the blessed daylight, and the bell chamber itself. The boys were amazed at the size of the bell.

"It's bigger'n all outdoors with the lawn around it!" exclaimed Gizzard with an expression akin to awe. "S'pose we can ever ring it? If we can't we might as well be gettin' out of here."

"'Course we can ring it," was Sube's withering response; but at the same time he made a mental reservation.

"I s'pose we could swing that dinger back and forth if we couldn't do nothin' else," Gizzard admitted resignedly.

On concluding their examination of the bell they discovered that they were very high up in the air. The location of various points of interest occupied them for perhaps half an hour, and then time began to drag. It seemed a lifetime before darkness came, and meanwhile, the shouts of boys playing ball in a vacant lot not far away floated up to them with peculiar distinctness; and an outraged feeling in the place where the stomach was supposed to be, reminded them that supper-time had passed and they had failed to perform the customary epicurean exercises.

Gizzard was inclined to complain. He could think of lots of other things that would have been more fun. But Sube realized that it was too late to back out, and he bolstered up his ebbing courage by talking of the glory of achievement.

"Won't the other kids open their eyes, though, when they hear this ol' bell go boom—boo-oo-oo-oom! And won't they sit up and beg when they find out we're the ones who pulled it off!"

But Gizzard would not be comforted. "That's all right," he admitted, "only I wisht I was home in the pantry with a big bowl of bread and milk in front of me, and a piece of—"

"Yes, and how'd you like to have all the kids callin' you 'Quitter' and tellin' you to go play with Biscuit Westfall?"

"You don't think I'm goin' to quit now, do you?" muttered Gizzard peevishly. "Can't I talk about some'pm to eat without goin' home to get it? Cer'nly I can!"

"Well, don't let's talk about it, anyway," was Sube's conciliatory reply. "I'm hungry enough as it is—"

At this point a family of bats that lived far up in the steeple decided to go out in search of their evening meal. For a few moments the air was literally filled with flapping wings. The youthful bellringers nearly died of fright before they discovered the cause of the mysterious noises.

By the time that they had recovered from this shock, the floor had begun to feel very much harder, and after a little they decided to lie down and rest their heads on the mysterious bundles they had brought with them. Suddenly Gizzard sat up with a jerk.

"Say!" he gasped. "Now we are up against it!"

"Up against what?" asked Sube languidly.

"We dassent ring that bell!" Gizzard exclaimed in a tone of subdued alarm.

"Why not! I'd like to know!" demanded Sube, rising quickly to a sitting posture.

"With ol' Hank Morley waitin' right at the bottom of the ladder when we come down!"

Sube collapsed. "Gosh! I didn't think about that."

"The minute we begun to ring that bell," Gizzard enlarged, "he'd duck right to the bottom of the ladder, and he'd wait there for us if we stayed up here a week!" After a moment he added hoarsely, "Prob'ly they'd starve us out!—Or else send Dan Lannon up after us!"

"Well," Sube responded weakly, "we can't get out now! We got to wait till ol' Hank goes home—"

"Yes, and we'll miss the bonfire!" whined Gizzard. "You got me into a nice pickle this time!"

"Well, why didn't you think of it before?" was Sube's feeble defense.

"Why didn't you think of it when you was thinkin' of the rest?" returned Gizzard. Then contriving a particularly cruel thrust he added maliciously: "This'll be a nice way to celebrate the ever-glorious Fourth!"

If Gizzard could have seen Sube's face he would have felt repaid for his efforts; but darkness prevented, and the depths of Sube's chagrin were never known.

"I'm layin' down now," was all he said.

Then Gizzard stabbed again. "This'll be a ever-glorious place to see that ever-glorious bonfire," he taunted.

"I wonder if those bats'll be comin' back pretty quick," Sube ventured by way of a chastened response.

"Well, if one of the ever-glorious little cusses ever comes flappin' round me, I'll knock his ever-glorious brains out!" threatened Gizzard as he settled back on his comfortless pillow.

Sube made no reply. But as long as Gizzard was able to keep his eyes open he babbled of things ever-glorious. It was not long, however, before they both slept. And below them, stretched at full length on a pew in the church, Hank Morley also slept.

Midnight approached. A mammoth bonfire was laid in the street at the bank corner. Butch Bosworth and Dick Bissell took a turn past the Baptist Church and, observing the sexton on guard before the door, passed on. At the Presbyterian Church they found the coast apparently clear. The porch was vacant, and there was no light to be seen inside. They were not long in locating the open cellar-window, through which they crawled and stealthily made their way to the gallery. And as the town clock began the stroke of twelve the Presbyterian church-bell set up such a pealing and clanging as it had never before been heard to utter.

In the nave of the church Hank Morley awoke with a start. He leaped to his feet and rushed to a small closet near the foot of the single stairway leading to the gallery, and, opening the door, caught up a lighted lantern. As he went clumping up the gallery stairs, the tumult in the steeple suddenly ceased. Two dark figures slunk from the vicinity of the bellrope and took refuge beneath the pews.

"Hands up!" ordered Hank, taking his stand at the head of the stairs and leveling a shining object at the marauders.

Two pairs of dirty hands went up instantly.

"Come out of there or I'll shoot!" cried Hank.

Butch and Dick rose up and stood cowering before him. Hank raised his lantern and scrutinized their guilty faces with his one good eye.

"I know ye both!" he announced at length. "Now march down that pair o' stairs and wait for me at the bottom. No boltin', or I'll shoot!"

On reaching the foot of the stairs Hank stepped over to the front door, and lowering his shining weapon, stuck it into the keyhole and unlocked the door.

"Breakin' into a place what's locked, is burglary!" he told them crabbedly. "Did ye know that?"

The boys' answer, if indeed they made any, was swallowed up by the tumultuous booming of the church bell, which began at that moment with the unexpectedness of a thunderclap.

"What! Didn't I get all of ye?" cried Hank, starting for the stairs.

But there was no answer, for before Hank had taken two steps Butch and Dick were gone.

The same stroke of the bell that had brought Henry Morley out of his slumbers, had startled the two boys in the bell chamber almost out of their wits. For some moments they clung to each other in terror, not comprehending where they were or what was happening. That they were on the brink of destruction, neither one doubted. In such close quarters the vibration and reverberation were terrific. The sound was much more like the roar of a cannon than the joyful pealing of a church bell.

Gradually the situation dawned on them, but they dared not move for fear of being struck by the swinging bell. However, the moment the clamor ceased—which it soon did—Sube scrambled to his feet, and giving Gizzard a healthy prod with his foot, he cried:

"It was a fake! An ever-glorious fake, what you read in the paper!"

"I guess it was, all right," muttered Gizzard as he got up and began to investigate the condition of his eardrums by poking a finger into each ear. "It must of been!"

By the light of the bonfire which now was shining through the window-slats they could see that the bell was still swinging back and forth, but in too small an arc to cause the clapper to strike.

"They must of got tired!" cried Sube. "See! They're tryin' to ring it and can't. Let's jump onto the wheel and help 'em!"

"All right!" was Gizzard's prompt response.

"Now I'll jump on this side, and you jump on that side!" shouted Sube. "We'll work it like a see-saw!"

As they rocked, the bell gathered momentum, and presently began to peal with the regularity of a clock. This was kept up for fully five minutes before they dropped off thoroughly exhausted.

"Woof!—Poof!—Woofoo-oo-oo!" puffed Sube. "Wonder who it was down below. Some of the kids prob'ly, or they wouldn't of got tired so quick."

"Whee-ee-ee-ew!" blew Gizzard. "Hot work!"

"Hey! I got a scheme!" Sube announced gleefully. "Let's put on our pajamas and scare those kids when we come down!"

Gizzard was not averse to this form of amusement, but he still clung to the old-fashioned nightgown.

"Better yet!" cried Sube. "That'll look more like a spook than my pajamas will! Pile into it!"

So, clad in their night-clothes they began to feel their way down the series of ladders in the inky-black steeple. Somehow they managed to reach the hatchway leading down into the gallery, and Sube, who was in the lead, was groping for the top of the ladder when Gizzard felt him suddenly recoil.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Oh, Lordy!" gasped Sube as he drew back into the loft.

Gizzard was alarmed. "What's the matter?" he repeated. "What is it?"

"Ol' Hank Morley—" was all Sube could say.

"Maybe it's all right," said Gizzard reassuringly. "He rung it himself, didn't he! Try it! Go on down!"

"I can't! He took the ladder away!"

As Gizzard sank back weakly, voices were heard in the gallery below.

"How many is there?" asked a hoarse grating voice that they both recognized as Elder Jones's.

"They's a number of 'em all right," replied the sexton. "Look at how they ringed that bell! I can't ring it like that myself, and I been practicin' on it for nigh thirty year! They must be half a dozen of 'em, at least!"

"Well, they can't get down till we put the ladder back; but you better wait here and watch for 'em while I step over to my house and 'phone for an officer. I won't be gone long."

And Elder Jones tramped out with a very determined tread emphasized at each alternate step by an equally determined rap from his cane.

Hank Morley sat down on the top step of the gallery stairs, his trusty lantern beside him. From his coat pocket he produced a fragrant Missouri meerschaum, and although smoking was strictly forbidden in the church, he felt that he was entitled to certain indulgences, and accordingly filled and lighted it. He had taken only a few puffs when he heard a noise behind him and glanced casually back over his shoulder. Instantly the glance became a stare that was far from casual, for, floating in mid-air between the floor and the ceiling he beheld two white figures that sailed back and forth gracefully and seemed to have no difficulty in navigating the thin air.

Hank did not wait to take a second look. He had seen enough. Why tarry? With one frantic bound he cleared the stairs. With another he crossed the vestibule, and with a third he reached the middle of the street. A few moments later he was in Hennessey & O'Brien's saloon calling hoarsely for alcoholic aid.

"Say, ol' Hank's got a fine start for the Fourth," the barkeep murmured confidentially to his employer a few moments later. "When a feller begins to see ghosts, it's time to cut it out."

True to his word Elder Jones returned to the church only a short time after he had left it, and although he found the lighted lantern at the head of the gallery stairs the sexton had gone. The elder was still awaiting his return when the two officers arrived.

And, as Gizzard had expected, Dan Lannon was one of them.

The ladder was replaced and a thorough search of the steeple was made, but they were unable to find any traces of the culprits save a small size toothbrush that was found in the bell chamber.

"Why don't you cut a hole for this bellrope?" asked Dan Lannon as he attempted to replace the scuttle and found the rope hanging through the hatchway.

"There is a hole over to your left, there, about six feet," replied the elder. "Those little rascals must have pulled it out when they was up above there. But what I'd like to know is, how'd they ever git out of that there steeple!"

"They might have slid down the rope," suggested Dan.

"Never!" cried the elder. "Never! Not with Henry Morley watchin' right here in plain sight! But I reckon that somethin' happened here while I was gone! Must have or Henry wouldn't have quit his post! Probably he's out chasin' 'em now! Wait till we hear from Henry—wait till we hear from Henry."

The elder went home with menacing mutterings and noisy cane-rappings on the sidewalk; but the officers were more fortunate. They met Henry Morley on the street within fifteen minutes after they left the elder. Henry was in a very communicative mood, but the officers considered that he was more illuminated than illuminating.

"I most believe ol' Hank rung that there bell himself," allowed Dan Lannon. "I don't know as I ever saw him so lit up before."

"Likely he did," replied his brother sleuth. "More'n likely he did. When a feller gets so that he's seein' sperits floatin' round in the air, he's likely to ring anything."

Next morning when Henry Morley tendered his resignation and went to live with his daughter on a farm in the country, the officers felt that their deductions of the evening before had been amply verified.

But among those whose opinion really amounted to anything Sube and Gizzard were heroes.