"Burglar! Is that what you thought me?" demanded Mr. Nelson, as a smile crept over his face.
"Ye—yes," faltered Grace. "I know it was silly of me—dreadfully silly, but I—I——"
"It's all right, my dear. I don't blame you a bit!" comforted Betty, her arms around the shrinking figure of Grace. "Go on back, you boys!" she commanded the others. "Our—our hair isn't fit to be seen!" and the boys retired, snickering. No girl likes to be looked at in a dressing gown, when suddenly aroused from sleep. And one's hair doesn't appear half so becoming in that state as it does even under a bathing cap.
"But what does it all mean?" asked Mrs. Nelson, who had waited to put on something smarter than a dressing sack before venturing out into the hall.
"Grace thought papa was a burglar," explained Betty.
"Well—that is, I didn't exactly——" protestingly began Grace.
"Did you have a nightmare?" asked Mrs. Nelson. "I'm afraid the diamond excitement was too much for you. A little bromide, perhaps, or some——"
"Oh, she doesn't need that," Betty said as the boys "made themselves small" around a corner, that they might hear the explanation, if unseen. "She really did think papa was taking the diamonds."
"Why, he is!" cried Mrs. Nelson, as she caught sight of the objects her husband carried—the mysterious box and the packet of precious stones. "What are you doing with them?" she asked.
"I was putting them in a safer place," he explained. "Perhaps it was foolish of me, but, after I had brought them to my room, I got to thinking it was rather careless to leave them about so. It wasn't so much the fear of thieves as it was of fire. You know diamonds can't stand much fire."