Mrs. Wilson walked to the window, and her lynx eyes detected the ladder by which Phineas had climbed to the window of Bert's room.
"Do you see that?" she asked.
It is rather surprising that she did not suspect Bert of knowing something about the matter, but she had not yet had time to put two and two together.
"It's terrible!" murmured Silas, mopping the cold perspiration from his forehead. "What can we do?"
"What can we do? Go and get your gun, Silas, and go up and confront the villain. That's what we can do."
Somehow the suggestion did not seem to find favor with Mr. Wilson.
"He would shoot me," he said. "He's probably waitin' for me with a loaded weepun upon the landin'."
"Silas Wilson, I am ashamed of you. Are you going to let a villainous burglar rampage round upstairs, stealin' whatever he can lay his hands on? Come now!"
"I believe you care more for the few things upstairs than for your husband's life," said Silas reproachfully.
"Do you want me to go, Silas? What'll the folks in the village say when they hear of it?"