"Hark!" whispered Tad. "What's that?"
And the boy sat up, the old, fearful, hunted look coming back into the face just lately so serene in sleep.
"It's someone talkin' with the woman, ain't it?" said Phil.
"Yes—but don't you know the voice?" gasped Tad. "It's that man Paul, one of them burglars."
"What shall we do?" cried Phil. "Has he come after us?"
"No, no," rejoined Tad; "but p'raps this is where he lives, and maybe he's just got home. Listen, Phil; we'd better be quite sure it's he, and if the woman's told him anything, afore we makes up our mind what to do."
Still as mice, the lads lay buried in the straw under the blanket, and listened breathlessly. Part of the talk they could not hear, only a low murmur of two voices reaching their ears.
But at last the man's voice said distinctly:
"Enough, Claudine; why waste my time and patience with those everlasting remonstrances of thine? See here, could all thy industry or mine, year in, year out, win such a pretty bauble as this?"
Here there was a pause, as though the man were showing the woman something. Then he went on: