“She understood me. She is a very clever
woman, much cleverer even than your Mrs. Martin, Dicky-Dick.”
“She is not,” I chirped angrily.
“Hush up,” said Chummy, giving me a gentle peck. “Let him finish his tale. Don’t you see how wound up he is?”
“My mistress sent cook upstairs,” said old Thomas, going on, and keeping an eye on Chummy and me, for he knew we were inclined to make fun of him. “She asked two of the gentlemen to come down. They did so, and now I quite joyfully led the procession to the dining-room, and, on arriving there, I sprang toward the sideboard.
“The burglar ran to the window and smashed through it, but the gentlemen caught him, even as I catch a mouse, and they telephoned for the patrol wagon, and he is now in jail and they will probably hang him.”
“Oh, no, Thomas,” said Chummy protestingly, “you go too fast. He will likely get only a prison term.”
The other birds burst out laughing, but Chickari said, “Good boy, Thomas—you are a public benefactor to catch a burglar! What is
your mistress going to do to reward you?”
“I am to have a silver collar,” said Thomas soberly, “which I know I shall hate. Cats should never have collars. They prevent us from going into out-of-the-way places.”