On the Lightship

by Herman Knickerbocker Vielé

"My pitcher!" she cried piteously. "My silver dishes! My epergne! Where have they gone? Where is Auguste?"

"Auguste," said Mary Anne, who, scenting an excitement, now ran up the kitchen stairs, "has also gone. He drove off with the sofa in the van."

"With the sofa?"

"Yes, ma'am; sitting on it."

"Robbed!" cried Mr. Livermore, with a lightning flash of keen conviction, and the entire company repeated in a hollow chorus:

"Robbed!"

But Mr. Livermore's lightning, after the manner of such fluids, was not satisfied to score a single bull's-eye.

"It was a deep conspiracy," he went on, becoming clairvoyant, "and ten to one that Mickleworth young man was in the plot."

"You shall not say such horrid things of him, papa," cried Selma.