a common centre the while. In this way, by aiming
horizontally at about four feet from the floor, we could rake the
premises, and run no risk of shooting each other or the women of the
family.

To be sure, there were some slight objections to this plan. The
boarder's room was at some distance from ours, and he would probably not
hear the alarm, and the burglars might not be willing to wait while
I went forward and roused him up, and brought him to our part of the
house. But this was a minor difficulty. I had no doubt but that, if it
should be necessary, I could manage to get our boarder into position in
plenty of time.

It was not very long before there was an opportunity of testing the
plan.

About twelve o'clock one night one of the alarms (that on the kitchen
window) went off with a whirr and a wild succession of clangs. For a
moment I thought the morning train had arrived, and then I woke up.
Euphemia was already under the bed.

I hurried on a few clothes, and then I tried to find the bureau in the
dark. This was not easy, as I lost my bearings entirely. But I found it
at last, got the top drawer open and took out my pistol. Then I slipped
out of the room, hurried up the stairs, opened the door (setting off the
alarm there, by the way), and ran along the deck (there was a cold night
wind), and hastily descended the steep steps that led into the boarder's
room. The door that was at the bottom of the steps was not fastened,
and, as I opened it, a little stray moonlight illumed the room. I
hastily stepped to the bed and shook the boarder by the shoulder. He
kept HIS pistol under his pillow.

In an instant he was on his feet, his hand grasped my throat, and
the cold muzzle of his Derringer pistol was at my forehead. It was an
awfully big muzzle, like the mouth of a bottle.

I don't know when I lived so long as during the first minute that he
held me thus.

"Rascal!" he said. "Do as much as breathe, and I'll pull the trigger."

I didn't breathe.

I had an accident insurance on my life. Would it hold good in a case
like this? Or would Euphemia have to go back to her father?

He pushed me back into the little patch of moonlight.

"Oh! is it you?" he said, relaxing his grasp. "What do you want? A
mustard plaster?"

He had a package of patent plasters in his room. You took one and dipped
it in hot water, and it was all ready.

"No," said I, gasping a little. "Burglars."

"Oh!" he said, and he put down his