228 Tom Seven Years Old.

 

“They’re in the kitchen,” thought Tom,
holding his stick still tighter—“ in the kitchen,
stealing the plates. I wonder Doggie doesnt
hear them, and bark. He must be asleep.
Papa will have to punish him to-morrow
morning for not watching.”

He crept further down. On the kitchen
stairs he stood still to think what he should
do first. He was not at all frightened, but
determined that his papa and mamma should
not know anything about it till he had sent
the robbers away all by himself. But from
the footsteps moving, and the voices, he knew
there must be a great many of them. There
was a light shining under the kitchen door,
which he could not understand. While he
stood settling what to do, the kitchen door
opened, and somebody walked out. Tom felt
the moment had come. He raised his stick.

“Bless my heart, Master Tom,” cried the
voice of Jane the housemaid; “what brings
you down at this hour of the morning ?”

She held a candle in her hand, high up, so
~ as to look at him.