The dismay of the cheated town waxed to hot indignation.
Even Miss Limpenny, issuing from her front door, heard the news, and returned in a stupor to watch matters from her bedroom window.
She had not missed a morning service for fourteen years.
Then as if by one impulse passion gave way to action.

Like an invading army the townspeople poured in at the gate, trampling the turf and crushing the flower-beds.

They forced the front door (whence the page fled, to hide in the cellar), pushed into the hall, swarmed into the drawing-room--upstairs--all over the house.
Only in the bedrooms were there signs of a hasty flight; but they were enough.

The strangers had decamped.

There was a pause of indecision, but for no long time.
"Sunday or no Sunday," screamed the choleric upholsterer, "every stick of mine will I take off this morning!" He tucked up his sleeves, and, flinging open the French window of the drawing-room, caught up an arm-chair, and began to drag it out towards the lawn.
A cheer followed.