“One o’ my wisitors brought ’em in to me this mornin,” he said. “I thought yer might as well hev ’em. I kep’ ’em partly ’cos it was more convenienter, an’ partly ’cos I took a fancy to yer. I’ve seed a many curi’s things, sir,” he said to Editha’s papa, “but never nothin’ as bloomin’ queer as that little kid a-comin’ in an’ tellin’ me she wont ’urt me, nor yet wont scream, and please wont I burgle quietly so as to not disturb her mar. It brought my ’art in my mouth when first I see her, an’ then, lor’, how I larft. I almost made up my mind to give her things back to her afore I left, but I didn’t quite do that—it was agin human natur’.”
The burglar brought from under his mattress a box, which he handed to the little girl.
But they were in the box now, and Editha was so glad to see them that she could scarcely speak for a few seconds. Then she thanked the burglar politely.
“I am much obliged to you,” she said, “and I’m really very sorry you are to be sent so far away. I am sure papa would have tried to help you if he could, though he says he is afraid you would not do for an editor.”
The burglar closed one eye and made a very singular grimace at the police officer, who turned away suddenly and did not look round until Editha had bidden her acquaintance good-bye.
And even this was not quite all. A few weeks later, a box was left for Editha by a very shabby, queer-looking man, who quickly disappeared as soon as he had given it to the servant at the door; and in this box was a very large, old-fashioned silver watch, almost as big as a turnip, and inside the lid were scratched these words:
To the little Kid,
From ’er fr’end and wel wisher,
Lord halgernon hedward halbert
de pentonwill, ide park.
