Come on, boys, and fetch a bucket or two, or some baskets.

Let's storm the fort!" The crowd was laughing now, and men were shouting advice of all sorts.
Uncle Hannibal was already on his way to the singers' gallery, and Addison, hastily thrusting the smoker into my hands, got down from the ladder and ran to help our distinguished visitor.

Others followed them up the back stairs to the gallery; but the old Squire, seeing what was likely to happen, came to my assistance on the ladder.

Taking the smoker into his own hands, he worked it vigorously in order to send as much smoke as possible up into the loft.
But on pushing up the scuttle the opening was found to be no more than fifteen inches square; and Uncle Hannibal was a two-hundred-pound man with broad shoulders.

He mounted the singers' bench, but he could barely get his large black head up through the hole.
"Ah!" he cried in disgust.