"Come in," called Mrs. Chatterton, with firmest of fingers on the trigger and her flashing eyes fastened upon the seamed, dirty face before her.
Polly threw wide the door.
"We have a man here that we don't want," said Mrs. Chatterton. "I'll take care of him till you get help. Hurry!"
"Oh, Dick!" cried Polly in a breath, with a fearful glance at the boy lying there.
"I think he's all right, Polly." She dared say no more, for Dick had not stirred.
Polly clasped her hands, and rushed out almost into Jasper's face. "A burglar—a burglar!" and he dashed into Mrs. Chatterton's room.
"Don't interfere," said Mrs. Chatterton. "I'm a splendid markswoman."
"You needn't shoot," said the man sullenly. "I won't stir."
"No, I don't think you will," said the gray-haired woman, her eyes alight, and hand firm as a rock. "Well, here are the men."
Jasper had seized a table-spread, and as Michael and the undergardeners advanced, he went back of the robber, and cleverly threw it over his head. It was easy to secure and bind him then. Polly rushed over to Dick.