“All right; and thank you, sir,” said Ladybird, her grief at parting with the dog temporarily forgotten in the fact that the farewell was to be postponed for twenty-four hours. Then with a brief good-by, as if fearful lest Mr. Bates should change his mind, she darted out of the door and across the fields.
“It’s all right, aunty,” she cried as she flew into Primrose Hall: “the Bateses are going to take Cloppy, but he can’t go till to-morrow; they haven’t got his room ready; but that’s all right if you’ll just let him stay here one more night. And now am I a good girl, aunty? I do want to be good.”
“Yes, you’re a good girl,” said her aunt, “and you have done your duty; but don’t expect to be praised for it every minute. To do one’s duty is right and even necessary, but not praiseworthy.”
“I think I’ll go down to the orchard, Aunt Priscilla,” said Ladybird; “the trees are so sympathetic.”
That night a strange thing happened at Primrose Hall.
As he did nine times out of ten, old Matthew had left the front parlor windows unfastened. But in that quiet country neighborhood no marauder had ever profited by the old man’s carelessness.
The family went to bed as usual; the Flint ladies slept calmly in their ruffled night-caps behind their dimity curtains; the objectionable Cloppy was curled up on the foot of Ladybird’s bed; and though that sad-hearted maiden had firmly made up her mind to cry all night, she soon fell asleep and had only happy dreams.
About midnight a large man with a firm tread walked boldly, but quietly, across the dooryard to the front door of Primrose Hall.
He was presumably a burglar, but his attitudes and effects were by no means of the regulation type. Instead of skulking as the traditional burglar always does, he walked fearlessly and seemed to know exactly where he was going; while instead of a black mask his face wore a broad grin, and he chuckled noiselessly as he looked at a large hatchet which he carried in his hand.
Although he walked quietly up the veranda steps, he used no especial caution in opening the front window. It slid easily up, and the burglar stepped over the sill, heedless of the fact that his muddy boots made huge tracks on the light carpet. He struck several matches in quick succession, blowing each out and throwing it on the floor; he then deliberately pocketed two or three articles of value which lay on the center-table. An old silver card-case, an antique snuff-box, and a small silver dish were appropriated; and then turning to a white marble bust of a foolish-looking lady in a big hat, which stood on a mottled-green pedestal, he calmly knocked it over, and laughed as it crashed into a thousand pieces.