He made up his mind and climbed out and bolted.

 He ran through the garden in the whipping wind and round to the front of the house and down the little drive, but a great metal gate had close over the entrance. He could not fit under. He did not think he could climb over-it was tall and spiky. The wall looked too smooth to scale. His only hope he thought was to find a tree close to the wall. He ran along it and sure enough there was the very tree outside his window. He could not tell if it was close enough to the wall, but the wind was whipping it and as it swayed it just might come close enough that he could jump to the wall. If he could climb it and hold on in such a gale. He had climbed trees almost every day in the valley and was adept. He had never climbed one in a storm before, but he did so now. And sure enough, he found, clinging to a broad branch, that when the wind blew hard and then let up the branch would sway back towards the wall before correcting itself, and he just might be able to make it-but the landing would be difficult. If he slipped it would be an awkward long fall to the ground, and it wouldn't do any good to be free with a broken ankle. But he knew a spell to ease a short fall, and he cast it upon himself now. Then he waited for the wind to blow especially hard, and when it let up and the branch swung back he sprang from it just over the wall, and the virtue of his spell sailed him gently to the ground, and he was up and running back along the lane.

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