tly
prattling and artless to make a beginning with. In the stories and the
affecting poetry the child could never speak plainly, though it always
looked old enough to in the pictures. And Jane could not make up her
mind to lisp and 'talk baby', even to a burglar. And while she hesitated
he softly opened the nursery door and went in.

Jane followed--just in time to see him sit down flat on the floor,
scattering cats as a stone thrown into a pool splashes water.

She closed the door softly and stood there, still wondering whether she
COULD bring herself to say, 'What's 'oo doing here, Mithter Wobber?' and
whether any other kind of talk would do.

Then she heard the burglar draw a long breath, and he spoke.

'It's a judgement,' he said, 'so help me bob if it ain't. Oh, 'ere's a
thing to 'appen to a chap! Makes it come 'ome to you, don't it neither?
Cats an' cats an' cats. There couldn't be all them cats. Let alone the
cow. If she ain't the moral of the old man's Daisy. She's a dream out of
when I was a lad--I don't mind 'er so much. 'Ere, Daisy, Daisy?'

The cow turned and looked at him.

'SHE'S all right,' he went on. 'Sort of company, too. Though them above
knows how she got into this downstairs parlour. But them cats--oh, take
'em away, take 'em away! I'll chuck the 'ole show--Oh, take 'em away.'

'Burglar,' said Jane, close behind him, and he started convulsively,
and turned on her a blank face, whose pale lips trembled. 'I can't take
those cats away.'

'Lor' lumme!' exclaimed the man; 'if 'ere ain't another on 'em. Are you
real, miss, or something I'll wake up from presently?'

'I am quite real,' said Jane, relieved to find that a lisp was not
needed to make the burglar understand her. 'And so,' she added, 'are the
cats.'

'Then send for the police, send for the police, and I'll go quiet. If
you ain't no realler than them cats, I'm done, spunchuck--out of time.
Send for the police. I'll go quiet. One thing, there'd not be room for
'arf them cats in no cell as ever _I_ see.'

He ran his fingers through his hair, which was short, and his eyes
wandered wildly round the roomful of cats.

'Burglar,' said Jane, kindly and softly, 'if you didn't like cats, what
did you come here for?'

'Send for the police,' was the unfortunate criminal's only reply. 'I'd
rather you would--honest, I'd rather.'

'I daren't,' said Jane, 'and besides, I've no one to send. I hate the
police. I wish he'd never been born.'

'You