80 Tom Seven Years Old.

 

“Tom,” said Bob, in a whisper, “you re-
collect my saying there were cats outside on
the slates that night °?”

“No,” said Tom. He only remembered
how horribly cold and dark it was, and how
nice it felt getting back into bed.

“But I did, though,” said Bob, nodding his
head. “And Iwas right; there were. Ann
heard them last night, and told me. I mean
to go up again. The box is still there, and
so is my stick. It will be doing the public a
service to send them away.” Tom was glad
he would not be there to go with him. At
the last minute Jack ran up to him with a
little parcel wrapped in newspaper. It was
four marbles out of his treasure-box—one was
the blue one.

“fre you ready, Tom?” called his papa.
“Say good-bye. Don’t wait.”-

Tom said good-bye to each one, and gave
his aunt a great hug.

‘“ Now that you know us,” said she, “and we
know you, you must come back again soon.”

“Yes,” said Tom; “certainly. As soon