minute. But now he
tossed restlessly. His sleep was light. Suddenly he found himself
sitting bolt-upright in bed. He saw a streak of pale whitish light on
the floor and across his bed, and caught a glimpse of the moon. Oh, yes,
it was the moon that had awakened him. Queer that had never happened
before. He would go to sleep again. Then a rough, rather hoarse voice
startled him. It came from his father's room.

"You're comin' right down ter de bank, dat's wat you're goin' ter do,"
the voice said, "an' if ye don't open de safe ye'll be learned
how--see?"

"I shall not go one step. You may do your worst." It was his father's
voice now.

"Hurrah for you, father!" Arthur could hardly keep from shouting. Then
there was silence for a moment. He heard two sharp clicks that told of
the cocking of a revolver; then his mother's voice pleading with his
father to remember the children. Now there was the sound of a struggle.
The burglar won, although he feared to use his revolver least the noise
might summon help. Arthur understood it all. His father was the cashier
of the Traders' Bank. The burglar probably had an accomplice outside who
would help take his father to the bank and force him to open the safe.

Help must be got. The bank was in Plainfield, three miles away. If only
there were some way of telephoning to the police station! He knew that a
sergeant sat there all night. Men slept upstairs. But there was no
telephone. Now a thought came to him that almost made him shout for joy.
In ten seconds he had jumped into his sweater and knickerbockers, and
was lacing on his rubber-soled bicycling shoes. He did not wait for a
hat or stockings. He peered anxiously over the edge of the porch roof
into the backyard. No, there was no one watching there. Noiselessly the
boy lowered himself over the edge, and climbed down one of the pillars,
crushing the honeysuckle vine as he went. He found his bicycle leaning
against the house, where he had left it that afternoon after the race.

He picked up the wheel and walked on tiptoe across the grass at the rear
of the house. He threaded his way between the rows of corn-stalks in the
kitchen-garden. He made a long circuit, and at last came out in the
road. Then he mounted his bicycle and wheeled away at a pace that would
have astonished his friends. Going down hill he was very cautious. He
back pedalled. There must be no falling; therefore no coasting. Again on
the level road, he shot forward l