She thought about it so seriously that she hardly talked at all at dinner, and was so quiet afterward that her mamma said, “Dear me, Nixie, what are you thinking of? You look as solemn as a little owl.”
“I am thinking of you, mamma,” the child answered.
“The burglars, Miss, that broke into number eighteen last night.”
And then her mamma laughed and kissed her, and said: “Well, I must say I don’t see why you should look so grave about me. I didn’t think I was such a solemn subject.”
At last bed-time came, and the little girl went to her mother’s room, because she was to sleep there.
“I am glad I have you with me, Nixie,” said mamma, with a rather nervous little laugh. “I am sure I shouldn’t like to sleep in this big room alone.”
But, after she was in bed, she soon fell asleep, and lay looking so happy and sweet and comfortable that Editha thought it was lovely to see her.
Editha did not go to sleep for a long time. She thought of her papa trying to sleep on the train, rushing through the dark night on its way to Scotland; she thought of a new book she had just begun to read; she thought of a child she had once heard singing in the street; and when her eyes closed at length, her mind had just gone back to the burglars at Number Eighteen. She slept until midnight, and then something wakened her. At first she did not know what it was, but in a few minutes she found that it was a queer little sound coming from down-stairs,—a sound like a stealthy filing of iron.
She understood in a moment then, because she had heard the chamber-maid say that the burglars broke into Number Eighteen by filing through the bars of the shutters.