“No, I suppose there isn’t,” she answered, “Mamma might wake and miss me. What are you going to burgle first?”
“You’d better go upstairs to yer mar,” he said, rather sulkily.
Editha thought deeply for a few seconds.
“You oughtn’t to burgle anything,” she said. “Of course you know that, but if you have really made up your mind to do it, I would like to show you the things you’d better take.”
“What, fer instance?” said the burglar, with interest.
“You mustn’t take any of mamma’s things,” said Editha, “because they are all in her room, and you would waken her, and besides, she said it would break her heart; and don’t take any of the things papa is fond of. I’ll tell you what,” turning rather pale, “you can take my things.”
“What kind o’ things?” asked the burglar.
He laughed so hard, that he doubled up.
“My locket, and the little watch papa gave me, and the necklace and bracelets my grandmamma left me,—they are worth a great deal of money, and they are very pretty, and I was to wear them when I grew to be a young lady, but—you can take them. And—then—” very slowly, and with a deep sigh, “there are—my books. I’m very fond of them, but——”