"WHERE THIEVES BREAK THROUGH."
Two or three nights after this, Roger and Beppo--who was now as happy
as possible--had gone to bed quietly as usual, and had both fallen
asleep, when Beppo awoke with a start, and sat up in bed. He did not
know at first why he had awakened so suddenly, and he could hear, by
the old carpenter's quiet and regular breathing, that he still slept.
But Roger was a little deaf, and the noise that woke Beppo was not
loud enough to rouse him. It was, indeed, not meant to rouse
anybody, for, as Beppo was falling to sleep again, he heard it once
more, and this time sat up in bed and strained his ears to catch the
sound.
There could be no doubt about it: stealthy footsteps were moving
outside; whispering voices speaking close to the house; then the
latch was lifted very gently, and let down with a little click. Poor
Beppo, sitting up in bed, felt his heart beat so loud that he fancied
the people outside must hear it, although the room in which he slept
was divided from the kitchen into which thieves were trying to break.
For a moment he sat overcome by terror, but it was only for a moment.
Quietly and quickly he stole out of bed, and proceeded to dress
himself as noiselessly as possible. He would creep out of another
window--the window of the bedroom--without disturbing Roger! And in
order to delay the thieves, in case they should get into the kitchen
before he could bring help, he bolted the bedroom door on the inside.
Then, not waiting for shoes or stockings, he gently opened the
casement window, and began to try and wriggle through.
It was no easy matter, especially as the window was very small, and
he dared not make a sound. The house stood so much apart that he
felt it would be useless to call aloud for help; it was probable no
one would hear him except the thieves, who would not give him time
for more than one shout. All the neighbors would be sleeping the
sound sleep of working men and women, and the only chance of rousing
them would be to hammer on their doors and rattle their windows till
they woke. A policeman would take longer to find. Beppo's hasty
plan was to run for the nearest neighbors--John Broome, the
blacksmith, and Alick Thornicroft, the shepherd.
With much difficulty he was squeezing through the tiny window, when,
in the faint starlight--for the night was very dark, except for the
pale rays of a few stars shining between spaces in the clouds--he
caught sight of a most extraordinary object. The window of the
bedroom through which he was wriggling was at the side of the house,
and he could hear the thieves working away with some tools to force
open the front window. Suddenly the slight noise they were making
ceased, and it seemed as if they too were looking at the very strange
figure that now appeared in sight.
Slowly it came out of the shade of some dark, thick trees; a very
tall, straight figure, with one arm extended, pointing to the place
where the housebreakers stood.
Beppo, half out of the window, gazed, horror-stricken, at this
object, which, with the superstition of his country, he felt sure was
an evil spirit, come to terrify, or perhaps to carry off, the
evildoers. They seemed frightened too, for as the figure very slowly
moved along, not, however, coming near as yet, Beppo heard them
whispering to each other.
"Let's go home; I don't like the look of that--that thing!"
"Who's afraid?" sneered the other voice.
"Hush! it's speaking," said the first.
"Jim Dawson," said a low, deep tone that seemed to come from the
figure, "I know you!"
"Come away, Jim," whispered one of the thieves. "I'm off."
"Stop, Harry Crowther!" said the figure.
"Harry, you simpleton, come back!" cried Jim Dawson in the same low,
cautious tone in which he had all along spoken. "Look here, lad."
As he spoke he stooped and picked up a heavy and rather sharp stone,
which with his whole strength he flung at the figure that stood,
still pointing at him, only a few yards off.
When the stone struck the figure, it fell with a deep groan to the
earth; and it lay in a confused heap, motionless.
"Well done, Jim!" said Harry Crowther; and the worthy couple went to
work again on the window frame.
Beppo delayed no longer, but got quietly out of the window, dropped
carefully to the ground, stole away till he reached a dark shadow,
avoiding the spot where the heap lay, and then was off like the wind,
down the lane, and up the blacksmith's garden path.
Meantime, the burglars easily made for themselves an entrance through
the window, and went searching the kitchen, poking into every nook
and corner to find the old carpenter's hidden riches.
"This is no go!" said Crowther at last, finding absolutely nothing
but a very old silver watch, which he promptly pocketed. "We must
wake the old boy, and ask him where the 'swag' is."
"Right, mate! Misers always have some queer hole of their own to put
their tin in," answered Jim, still hunting about the kitchen.
The sound of a saucepan falling, which Jim's clumsy hands let go,
woke old Roger, who, seeing a light in the kitchen, suddenly appeared
in the doorway with an old coat hastily thrown over his shoulders.
"Look! he's saved us the trouble," said one of them.
"Ah!" growled the other. "He'll know us now, and we'll be had up for
this."
Jim Dawson seized the poker, and, advancing to the old man,
brandished it above his head.
"Now, look here, old Roger," he said, "we want your money, but we
don't want your life--that's no use to us. Now, just give us up
those savings, quiet and peaceable, and off we go, if you promise
first to hold that tongue of yours."
"Old miser!" went on Harry Crowther, "where do you keep all your
gold? Out with it!"
"I have no gold, my lad," answered old Roger. His voice trembled a
little; it may have been from cold, or from fear, or both.
"That's a lie!" cried Jim. "Who told little miss at the house up
here about all the treasure he kept hid away? Come now, out with it
quietly, before I make you."
"Ah! I understand," said old Roger quietly. "There's plenty of
_that_ treasure for thee, my lad, enough and to spare. It's all in
here--all in here."
He tottered slowly across the floor--such a feeble old man he
seemed!--till he reached his little workshop on the opposite side of
the kitchen. Into this room the thieves followed him, with eyes full
of greedy expectation. Roger went up to a little table, and took
therefrom an old book in strong, plain binding, that seemed to have
been much used.
There were probably banknotes hidden between the pages, thought the
burglars, and Jim Dawson snatched it from his hand roughly.
"It's all there, 'where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where
thieves do not break through nor steal,'" repeated Old Roger.
Jim Dawson rapidly searched the book, holding it upside down, that
anything loose might fall out, and examining the cover, to see if
there were any secret place. But it was only an old Bible, and with
a yell he sprang at the defenseless old man, and would have injured
him seriously, had it not been at this moment there came a sound of
the door opening, and footsteps in the kitchen.
Beppo had come with the blacksmith and the shepherd, and a sturdy
young farmer whom he had met on the way back.
The thieves were caught in a trap. Beppo, creeping quietly through
the larger window, had let in these kind friends; and before Jim
Dawson and his bad companion could think of escape they were seized
by strong hands and held fast.
A policeman was soon brought, and as they and their captors were
leaving the house they passed that queer heap.
"What's this?" said Thornicroft; "some one been following you?"
"Some one who tried to frighten me," said Jim Dawson sullenly; "so I
up with a stone."
"And killed your own sister," said the blacksmith, raising the figure
gently.
It was indeed poor Moll; but she was not dead, only stunned and
senseless.