The door swung open. You rose in your seats, you and Lizbeth and Father, craning your necks to see, and, seeing—
"Pie!" you cried, triumphantly.
"Ah!" said Father, lifting his pie-crust gayly with the tip of his fork.
"Apples," you said, peeping under your crust.
"Apples, my son? Apples? Why, no. Bless my soul! As I live, this is a robber's cave filled with sacks of gold."
"Oh, Father!" you cried, incredulous, not knowing how to take him yet; but you peeped again, and under your pie-crust it was like a cave, and the little slices of juicy apple lay there like sacks of gold.
"And see!" said Father, pointing with his fork, "there is the entrance to the cave, and when the policemen chased the robbers—pop! they went, right into their hole, like rabbits."
And sure enough, in the upper crusts were the little cuts through which the robbers popped. Your eyes widened.
"And oh, Father," you said, "the smoke can come out through the little holes when the robbers build their fire."
"Aha!" cried Father, fiercely. "I'm the policeman breaking into the cave while the robbers are away," and he took a bite.