Some people are afraid of burglars. Girls are awfully afraid of them.
When they think there's a burglar in the house, they pull the clothes
over their heads and scream "Murder father Jimmy there's a man in the
house call the police fire!" just as if that would do any good. What you
ought to do if there is a burglar is to get up and shoot him with a
double-barrelled gun and then tie him and send the servant out to tell
the police that if they will call after breakfast you will have
something ready for them that will please them. I shouldn't be a bit
frightened if I woke up and found a strange man in my room. I should
just pretend that I was asleep and keep watching him and when he went to
climb out of the window and got half way out I'd jump up and shut the
window down on him and tie his legs. But you can't expect girls to have
any courage, or to know what to do when anything happens.
We had been talking about burglars one day last week just before I went
to bed, and I thought I would put my bownarrow where it would be handy
if a robber did come. It is a nice strong bow, and I had about thirty
arrows with sharp points in the end about half an inch long, that I made
out of some big black pins that Susan had in her pin-cushion. My room is
in the third story, just over Sue's room, and the window comes right
down on the floor, so that you can lie on the floor and put your head
out. I couldn't go to sleep that night very well, though I ate about a
quart of chestnuts after I went to bed and I've heard mother say that if
you eat a little something delicate late at night it will make you go to
sleep.
A long while after everybody had gone to bed I heard two men talking in
a low tone under the window, and I jumped up to see what was the matter.
Two dreadful ruffians were standing under Sue's window, and talking so
low that it was a wonder I could hear anything.
One of them had something that looked like a tremendous big squash, with
a long neck, and the other had something that looked like a short
crowbar. It didn't take me long to understand what they were going to
do. The man with the crowbar was intending to dig a hole in the
foundation of the house and then the other man would put the big squash
which was full of dynamighty in the hole and light a slow-match and run
away and blow the house to pieces. So I thought the best thing would be
to shoot them before they could do their dreadful work.
I got my bownarrow and laid down on the floor and took a good aim at one
of the burglars. I hit him in the leg, and he said, "Ow! ow! I've run a
thorn mornamile into my leg."
Then I gave the other fellow an arrow, and he said, "My goodness this
place is full of thorns, there's one in my leg too."
Then they moved back a little and I began to shoot as fast as ever I
could. I hit them every time, and they were frightened to death. The
fellow with the thing like a squash dropped it on the ground and the
other fellow jumped on it just as I hit him in the cheek and smashed it
all to pieces. You can just believe that they did not stay in our yard
very long. They started for the front gate on a run, yelling "Ow! ow!"
and I am sorry to say using the worst kind of swear-words. The noise
woke up father and he lit the gas and I saw the two wretches in the
street picking the arrows out of each other but they ran off as soon as
they saw the light.
Father says that they were not burglars at all, but were only two idiots
that had come to serenade Sue; but when I asked him what serenading was
he said it was far worse than burglary, so I know the men were the worst
kind of robbers. I found a broken guitar in the yard the next morning,
and there wasn't anything in it that would explode, but it would have
been very easy for the robbers to have filled it with something that
would have blown the house to atoms. I suppose they preferred to put it
in a guitar so that if they met anybody nobody would suspect anything.
Neither mother nor Sue showed any gratitude to me for saving their
lives, though father did say that for once that boy had showed a little
sense.
When Mr. Travers came that evening and I told him about it he said,
"Jimmy! there's such a thing as being just a little too smart."
I don't know what he meant, but I suppose he was a little cross, for he
had hurt himself some way--he wouldn't tell me how--and had
court-plaster on his cheek and on his hands and walked as if his legs
were stiff. Still, if a man doesn't feel well he needn't be rude.