"Whatever it is, dear, they're just as much mystified as we are. Did you hear him whistle? It is a signal."

"I say, Anne, it's a beastly mess I've got you into," groaned he.

"Dear old Harry, it is but the beginning of the mess you're getting yourself into. I love this--every bit of it."

"You're ripping, Anne; that's what you are. I--Great Scotland! Here comes the head-waiter, but we don't dare show ourselves. Did you ever know such beastly luck?"

"There's another man too, away back there. And, look! Isn't that a light coming through the trees back of the gravestones? Good Heavens, Harry, we can't be married in a public thoroughfare. Everybody is walking with lanterns. It's awful."

"Let's go around to the rear of the church," he exclaimed suddenly.

"Perhaps we can get our brains to work on a plan of action. But, look here, Anne, no matter who they are or what they want, I'm going to marry you to-night if I have to do it in the face of the entire crowd."

As they scurried off through the tall wet gra.s.s to a less exposed station, a solitary figure came haltingly through the little gate. It was the head-waiter, and, as he carried no lantern, he was compelled to light matches now and then; after getting his bearings he would dart resolutely on for a dozen paces before lighting another. Stopping in front of the church door, he nervously tried to penetrate the gloom with an anxious gaze; then, suddenly bethinking, he gave three timid little coughs. Getting no immediate response, he growled aloud in his wrath:

"I've coughed my head off in front of every house between here and the hotel, and I'm gettin' darned tired of it. I don't like this business; and I never could stand for graveyards. Good Lord! what's that?"

Three sharp whistles came to his alert ears, coming, it seemed, from the very heart of some grim old gravestone. A man strode boldly across the yard from the gate, his walk indicating that he was perfectly familiar with the lay of the land.

"Who coughed?" he demanded loudly. "Is there no one here? What the d.i.c.kens does it mean? Joe Dauntless! Where are you? No fooling now; my wife's worse, and I can't stay here all night." He whistled again, and the head-waiter coughed in a bewildered reply. "That's queer. Nothing was said about coughing."

"h.e.l.lo!" called the head-waiter. "Is it you, sir?"

Joe Dauntless's cousin held his lantern on high and finally discovered the waiter near the pile of cordwood, ready to run at a moment's notice.

"Who are you?" demanded Mr. Carpenter.

"Gustave. But you ain't the man."

"I ain't, eh? Didn't you whistle a minute ago?"

"I ain't supposed to. I cough. Say, do you know if a wedding has taken place here? I am a witness."

"Oh, I see. He said he'd bring one. Are you alone?"

"I don't know. It feels like a crowd every time I cough. Are you the preacher?"

"No, I'm the bridegroom's cousin. We've got to get in through a window.

I couldn't find my key. Would you mind giving me a leg?"

"A leg? Nothing was said about legs," said the waiter, moving away.

Carpenter laughed.

"I mean a boost up to the window."

"Oh! Sure."

"There's one in the rear I can smash. We'll get inside and light up. I can open the door from that side, too. Come on--follow me." They turned the corner and followed the path so lately taken by Windomshire and Anne. As they came to the back of the church they were startled and not a little alarmed by the sound of sudden scurrying and a well-defined imprecation, but it was too dark for them to distinguish any one. While they were trying to effect an entrance through one of the windows, other mystified partic.i.p.ants in the night's affairs were looking on from secret and divers hiding-places. Far out in the little grove Derby and his old companion watched the operations of the church-breakers, the sickly glare of Carpenter's lantern as it stood upon the edge of the rain barrel affording an unholy light for the occasion. Windomshire and Anne, crouching behind a stack of old benches, looked on in amazement. Mr. Hooker, whose conscience was none too easy, doubtless for excellent reasons, peered forth from behind a tall tombstone. He had arrived at the conclusion that he was being hounded down as a body-s.n.a.t.c.her.

"This is a devil of a mess," he muttered dolefully. "If they catch me in this graveyard, I'll have a hard time proving an alibi. What an idiot I was to get into this thing! I guess I'll get out of it. He's got plenty of witnesses and I've got his ten dollars." He began sneaking off toward the extreme west end of the graveyard, bent on finding the road to town. "Holy smoke!" stopping short. "Another bunch of them coming! I'm surrounded!" He dropped down behind a weed-covered mound and glared straight ahead. Almost directly in his path a lantern wobbled and reeled slowly, finally bringing its bearer to the fence between the burying-ground and the churchyard. A man carried the light and half carried the form of a woman besides.

"Brace up, Nell dear," Mr. Hooker heard the newcomer say as tenderly as his exertions would allow. "The worst is over. Here's the church. Good Heavens, just think of being lost in a graveyard!"

"And climbing four fences and a tree," moaned Eleanor Thursdale. They had come up through the graveyard by mistake.

"It wasn't a tree; it was a fence post. Great Scot! There's no light in the church. What's up? Wait here, dear, and I'll investigate."

"Alone? Never!" she cried. They climbed their fifth fence, notwithstanding the fact that a gate was near at hand.

"This is an awful pickle I've got you into. You ought to hate me--" he was groaning, but she checked him n.o.bly.

"Hush, Joe, I LOVE it," she cried.

"You just wait and see how happy I'll make you for this." He was about to kiss her rapturously, but the act was stayed by the sound of a shrill whistle, thrice given. "There's Jim Carpenter and Derby," he exclaimed, and whistled in response. A moment later Derby strolled up from the grove, followed by the chattering Mr. Van Truder.

"That you, Joe?"

"h.e.l.lo, Darb. Good! Where's Jim?"

Some one whistled sharply off to the left, and then Jim Carpenter came hurrying up, the head-waiter close behind.

"h.e.l.lo, Joe. Say, has either of you been coughing?" demanded Carpenter, his hair ready to stand on end.

"I should say not," said Joe. "I've scarcely been breathing."

"Then some ghost is having a hemorrhage," said the head-waiter, dismally.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Hush, Joe, I LOVE it," she cried.]

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Dauntless, are you a witness too?"

"Say, Joe," said his cousin, quickly, "there's something strange going on. The whole place is full of people. I went back there to open a window and at least two men coughed--one of 'em sneezed. We're being watched. This man says he heard a woman back there, and I saw a funny kind of light in the graveyard."

"Hang 'em!" growled Joe. "We can't stop now. Open up the church, Jim."

"Can't. Lost my key. Is this Miss Thursdale? Glad to meet you. The window's the only way and they're surely watching back there."

"Mamma has sent the officers after us," wailed Eleanor.

"Let's go home," said the waiter. "I didn't agree to stay out all night."

"Agree? Aha, I see. You are a spy!" cried Joe.

"A spy? I guess not. I'm a witness."

"It's the same thing," cackled Mr. Van Truder. "You're a spy witness."

"Joe, isn't this fellow your witness?" demanded Carpenter.