"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."