At last Terry took off her white petticoat and tore it up to make a long streamer.

It was mounted on a walking-stick which was found in a corner, and then Turly began to climb the chimney.
Notches in the stone enabled him to plant his feet, and after he had squeezed himself up some way, he thrust the stick with its white streamer through the opening above him.
"It's all right!" he shouted down.

"It's flying!" Fortunately there were no chimney-pots on that particular chimney It had a wide opening, and Turly got his head out at the top.
"Oh!" said Terry, with her head in the grate, "I hope it won't get all wet, and flop!" "Rain's over!" shouted Turly.

"I've got such a splendid view! Walsh and Lally and a whole pack of them are running down the avenue; going to look for us, I suppose.

Hullo! If they would only look up! What duffers they are, with their eyes on the ground! I say, Lally! Hi--h--!" Terry only heard a word or two of all this, and the people down below none at all.