It was odd that the very next morning when Betty unlocked the door, she should find that some marauder had been there before her. She had locked her desk the night before, as she always did. But during the night the lid had been forced back, the papers in the pigeonholes tossed out on to the floor, the drawers opened and emptied.
Her face was white and frightened as she rushed over to find Babbie, who was staying in the little white house this time.
“The tea-room has been robbed!” she gasped. “Come over there, quick.”
Babbie, who always breakfasted late, was pinning her collar, and she gave a start that jabbed the pin straight into her thumb. “Ouch, but that hurt!” she groaned. “What did they take?”
“I was so frightened I didn’t stop to see. I thought they might be hiding in the loft.”
Babbie dropped a skirt over her head, and started down the stairs, hooking it up as she ran.
“They wouldn’t do that. They’d want to escape in the dark,” she called back encouragingly.
But at the door of the tea-shop she paused. “There is something moving up there,” she whispered cautiously. “See! Over in that corner by the curtain.”
Betty couldn’t see anything moving, but when Babbie started in a hasty retreat toward the little white house she banged to the big door and followed. Just then Bridget came waddling breathlessly up the hill.
“Wat’s up now, Misses?” she called. “Why are yez afther shuttin’ of me out?”