"I'm not quite sure, big lady. I think I'd like to be a bu'glar."
It is no wonder that Miss Scraggs screamed, or that "big lady" lifted up her hands.
"Oh, take the dreadful creature away!" cried Miss Scraggs; "he may kill us all before morning."
But when Tom Morgan laughingly explained that poor little Jack knew not what he was saying, and had no idea what a burglar was, he was restored to favour.
"Well, Tom," said the elder Mr. Morgan, who was Tom's father, "take your little sans-culotte away and give him a feed. I'll warrant he won't say 'no' to that on a Christmas eve."
"And some dood tlothes too," lisped a wee maiden of six—"some dood tlothes, Uncle Tom."
Then Jack made a bow such as he had seen actors outside caravans in the Green make. He took off the remains of his glengarry solemnly with his right hand, put his left hand to his heart, and bent his body low.
"I say, Morgan," cried Dawson, as Tom led Jack off, "that isn't any ordinary boy. Blame me if I don't think there are the makings of a little gentleman about him. What think you?"
"Well, Dawson, you never can tell what a boy of that age may turn to or be. He might turn out a burning and a shining light in church or state, he might become a leader of armies, or he might give—Jack Ketch a job."
* * * * *