THE BURGLAR'S BRIDE

The morning after the adventure of the Persian cats, the musk-rats, the
common cow, and the uncommon burglar, all the children slept till it was
ten o'clock; and then it was only Cyril who woke; but he attended to
the others, so that by half past ten every one was ready to help to get
breakfast. It was shivery cold, and there was but little in the house
that was really worth eating.

Robert had arranged a thoughtful little surprise for the absent
servants. He had made a neat and delightful booby trap over the kitchen
door, and as soon as they heard the front door click open and knew the
servants had come back, all four children hid in the cupboard under
the stairs and listened with delight to the entrance--the tumble, the
splash, the scuffle, and the remarks of the servants. They heard the
cook say it was a judgement on them for leaving the place to itself;
she seemed to think that a booby trap was a kind of plant that was quite
likely to grow, all by itself, in a dwelling that was left shut up. But
the housemaid, more acute, judged that someone must have been in the
house--a view confirmed by the sight of the breakfast things on the
nursery table.

The cupboard under the stairs was very tight and paraffiny, however, and
a silent struggle for a place on top ended in the door bursting open
and discharging Jane, who rolled like a football to the feet of the
servants.

'Now,' said Cyril, firmly, when the cook's hysterics had become quieter,
and the housemaid had time to say what she thought of them, 'don't you
begin jawing us. We aren't going to stand it. We know too much. You'll
please make an extra special treacle roley for dinner, and we'll have a
tinned tongue.'

'I daresay,' said the housemaid, indignant, still in her outdoor things
and with her hat very much on one side. 'Don't you come a-threatening
me, Master Cyril, because I won't stand it, so I tell you. You tell
your ma about us being out? Much I care! She'll be sorry for me when she
hears about my dear great-aunt by marriage as brought me up from a child
and was a mother to me. She sent for me, she did, she wasn't expected
to last the night, from the spasms going to her legs--and cook was that
kind and careful she couldn't let me go alone, so--'

'Don't,' said Anthea, in real distress. 'You know where liars go to,
Eliza--at least if you don't--'

'Liars indeed!' said Eliza, 'I won't demean myself talking to you.'

'How's Mrs Wi