Fred was dressed and down in a twinkling, and in the rushing, headlong, helter-skelter fashion of youngsters of his age, he told the story of the robbery that had been committed during the night.
The old ladies listened quietly, but the news was exciting, indeed, and when Aunt Lizzie, the mildest soul that ever lived, said:
"I hope you are mistaken, Fred; after breakfast we'll go up-stairs and see for ourselves."
"I shall see now," said her sister Annie, starting up the steps, followed by Fred and the other.
There they quickly learned the whole truth. Eight hundred and odd dollars were in the pocketbook, and the intrinsic worth of the silver tea service amounted to fully three times as much, while ten times that sum would not have persuaded the ladies to part with it.
They were thrown into dismay by the loss, which grew upon them as they reflected over it.
"Why didn't you call us?" asked the white-faced Aunt Lizzie.
"Why, what would you have done if I had called you?" asked Fred, in turn.
"We would have talked with them and shown them what a wicked thing they were doing, and reminded them how unlawful and wrong it is to pick a lock and steal things."