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Five Hundred Dollars; or, Jacob Marlowe's Secret, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 21. The Midnight Visit To The Pantry |
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_ CHAPTER XXI. THE MIDNIGHT VISIT TO THE PANTRY "Suppose Mrs. Wilson sees me?" thought Bert uncomfortably. "She will take me for a thief." He was actuated by the kindest motives, but he heartily wished his errand were done. As he stepped into the kitchen he heard the deep breathing of Mrs. Wilson and the noisy snore of her husband, and rightly judged that it would not be easy to rouse either of them. He opened the pantry door, and by the light of the moon was able to inspect the shelves. There was a half loaf of bread on one shelf, half a dozen doughnuts on a plate on the shelf below, and a few cold beans close beside them. Then there was a small pitcher half-full of milk. "I don't think the beans or doughnuts will set well on an empty stomach," Bert reflected. "I'd better take the milk and two or three slices of bread." Here the cat, who had been asleep on the hearth, roused herself, perhaps at the sight of the milk pitcher, and, mewing loudly, rubbed herself against Bert's legs. "Scat!" cried Bert, in a low voice, anxiously looking toward the door of the bed chamber in which the farmer and his wife lay asleep. The cat got between his legs and nearly tripped him up, but he managed to get out of the room and upstairs. Phineas looked at him eagerly. "I have some bread and milk here," said Bert. "I couldn't find any butter. There were some cold beans and doughnuts, but--" "The bread and milk are better. Give them to me. I am almost famished." The bread was dry and stale, but Phineas was not in the mood to be particular. He ate like one famished, and drained the pitcher to the last drop. "I feel better," he said then, with a sigh of relief. "I suppose I had better take the pitcher back to the kitchen. It will be missed," reflected Bert, and he started downstairs again in his bare feet. He paused at the kitchen door, and heard the farmer talking in his sleep. This alarmed him. He decided that it would not do to replace the pitcher in the pantry, as he would be likely to be heard. He waited where he was for five minutes, and then ventured into the kitchen. This time he was successful, and with mind relieved returned to his chamber. Phineas was dozing in his chair. "You had better get into the bed, Mr. Wilson," said Bert, filled with compassion for the weary wayfarer. "I'll lie on the floor." "If you don't mind. I am fagged out." Bert made a pillow of his coat and trousers, and stretched himself on the floor. He found that there was an inside bolt, with which he fastened the door, to guard against any unexpected visit from Mr. or Mrs. Wilson. He fell asleep again, and was only roused by a loud voice at the foot of the back stairs. "Time to get up!" called the farmer. "All right!" responded Bert in a loud tone. Fortunately Silas Wilson did not think it necessary to come up. Had he done so it would have been embarrassing, for Phineas was sound asleep on the bed. Bert thought it best to rouse him before he went down stairs. "Are you not afraid some one will come upstairs and find you here?" he asked. "No; mother never comes up till after she has got breakfast out of the way and the dishes washed." "I suppose you know best," said Bert doubtfully. "If necessary I shall tell her who I am." Bert went below, and sat down at the breakfast table. It was clear from the expression on Mrs. Wilson's face that she had something on her mind. "Silas," she said solemnly, "something mysterious has happened during the night." "What is it?" asked the farmer in a tone of surprise. "We have been robbed!" "What of?" he asked, turning pale. "Do you miss any of the spoons?" "No." "Or--or money?" and he pulled out his wallet hurriedly. "No, no, it isn't that." "What is it, then?" "I left that pitcher half full of milk when I went to bed last night. This morning there wasn't a drop in it, and the pantry door was open." "Cats are fond of milk," suggested Silas, with a glance at Tabby, who was lying near the fire-place. "It wasn't the cat. She couldn't get her head inside the pitcher. Besides, there are three slices of bread missing." "Won't cats eat bread?" "It was a two-legged cat!" replied Mrs. Wilson significantly. Bert reddened in spite of himself, and tried to look unconscious. He saw that Mrs. Wilson was on the point of making a discovery, and that suspicion was likely to fall upon him. This he could clear up, but it would be at the expense of the poor fellow who was asleep upstairs. "But how could anybody get into the house?" asked Silas. "The doors were locked, weren't they?" "Yes, Silas. In forty years I have never failed to lock the door before I went to bed." "Then I don't see----" "Nor I--yet!" said Mrs. Wilson significantly, and Bert thought--but he may have been mistaken--that her eyes turned for a moment in his direction. "At any rate it isn't much of a loss. Was there anything else in the closet?" "There were some doughnuts and beans." "Were any of them taken?" "No, not that I can see." "Cats don't care for them." "Don't be a fool, Silas! That poor cat had no more to do with the robbery than I have." "Mebbe you're right; but cats have been known to steal. I like dogs better myself." "I don't!" cried Mrs. Wilson with emphasis. "I'm not going to have any dog trapesing over my floors with his muddy feet." "Just as you like, Sophia. You'd better lock the pantry door in future." "I'm not sure that that will answer, unless I hide the key." "Do you seriously think a human being took the things?" "Yes, I do--in the middle of the night." "By gracious! that's serious, He might have come into our room and taken my wallet and watch." "And maybe murdered us in our beds!" added Mrs. Wilson grimly. "Did you hear anybody walking round the house last night, Bert?" asked the farmer, who was by this time worked up into a state of agitation. "No," answered Bert. "I am glad he did not ask me whether I _saw_ anybody," thought he. "I don't want to tell a lie." "I usually sleep pretty sound," he added, a little ashamed of his duplicity, yet not knowing how else to avert suspicions. "So we all do!" said the farmer's wife. "We might be all murdered in our beds without knowing anything about it." "I shouldn't want to know anything about it if that was going to happen," observed Silas, not without reason. "I don't think it could have been a very desperate ruffian, if he contented himself with taking bread and milk." "He may come again to-night," suggested Mrs. Wilson. "I hope not," said Silas fervently. "I--I couldn't sleep if I thought so." "We must get to the bottom of this," went on his wife resolutely. "I am not willing to have such goings on in my house." "How are you going to do it, Sophia? Probably the thief's miles off by this time." "He may be, or he may not be!" said Mrs. Wilson in an oracular tone. "I've heard of folks walking in their sleep," she added, after a pause. "You don't mean me?" asked Silas. "No; if you did it I'd have had a chance to find out in forty years. Do you ever walk in your sleep?" she asked, turning suddenly to Bert. The question was so unexpected that he could not help changing color, and this served to increase Mrs. Wilson's dawning suspicions. "Not that I ever heard of," Bert answered, after a pause. "I knew a boy once that did--it was a second cousin of my brother's first wife." "I am sure I never get up in my sleep." The door leading into the entry from which the back-stairs ascended was open, and through this, just at this moment, was heard a sound that startled all three who were sitting at the breakfast table. It was a loud, unmistakeable sneeze, and it came from the chamber which Bert had occupied. The farmer and his wife started as if the house had been shaken by an exploding bombshell. Both turned as pale as death, looked fearfully at each other, and clutched tightly at the edges of the table. "Silas!" said Mrs. Wilson, in a hollow voice, "the burglar is upstairs!" _ |
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