“’Taint as good as it ought to be, by no manner o’ means,” said the burglar. “Every one haint as hobligin’ as you, my little dear.”
“Oh!” said Editha. “You know you obliged me by not making a noise.”
“Well,” said the burglar, “as a rule, we don’t make a practice o’ makin’ no more noise than we can help. It haint considered ’ealthy in the perfession.”
“Would you mind leaving us a few forks and spoons to eat with, if you please? I beg pardon for interrupting you, but I’m afraid we shall not have any to use at breakfast.”
“Haint yer got no steel uns?” inquired the burglar.
“Mamma wouldn’t like to use steel ones, I’m sure,” Editha answered. “I’ll tell you what you can do: please leave out enough for mamma, and I can use steel. I don’t care about myself, much.”
The man seemed to think a moment, and then he was really so accommodating as to do as she asked, and even went to the length of leaving out her own little fork and knife and spoon.
“Oh! you are very kind,” said Editha, when she saw him do this.
“That’s a reward o’ merit, cos yer didn’t squeal,” said the burglar.
He was so busy for the next few minutes that he did not speak, though now and then he broke into a low laugh, as if he was thinking of something very funny, indeed. During the silence, Editha sat holding her little feet in her night-gown, and watching him very curiously. A great many new thoughts came into her active brain, and at last she could not help asking some more questions.