He marched round the house and up to the side window; no one was about, the whole place seemed very quiet.

Martha, as he had seen, was cooking in the kitchen, and the other girl was whitening the front veranda.
He gave one steady look at the great spiky thorns, and the next minute was climbing up among them.
Oh, how they pierced and tore him! There was a great, jagged wound up one arm, his left stocking was ripped away and a deep red scratch showed across his leg, his hands were bleeding and quivering with pain.
But he had reached the sill, and that was everything.
He pushed up the narrow window, and with much difficulty forced his little fat body through.

Then he dropped down on to a shelf, and lowered himself gingerly on to the floor.

There was no time to stay to look at his many hurts, he merely regarded the biggest scratch with rueful eyes, and then began to look around for provender.

The pantry was remarkably empty--not a sign of cakes, not a bit of jelly, not a remnant of fowl anywhere.