"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!" CHAPTER XXII. A PANIC AT FARMER WILSON'S. Silas Wilson was not a brave man, and at his wife's suggestion he turned pale, and looked panic-stricken. "Do--you--think so?" he asked feebly. "Do I think so? I know so," returned Mrs. Wilson energetically. "How could he get up there?" Mrs. Wilson walked to the window, and her lynx eyes detected the ladder by which Phineas had climbed to the window of Bert's room. "Do you see that?" she asked. It is rather surprising that she did not suspect Bert of knowing something about the matter, but she had not yet had time to put two and two together. "It's terrible!" murmured Silas, mopping the cold perspiration from his forehead. "What can we do?" "What can we do? Go and get your gun, Silas, and go up and confront the villain. That's what we can do." Somehow the suggestion did not seem to find favor with Mr. Wilson. "He would shoot me," he said. "He's probably waitin' for me with a loaded weepun upon the landin'." "Silas Wilson, I am ashamed of you. Are you going to let a villainous burglar rampage round upstairs, stealin' whatever he can lay his hands on? Come now!" "I believe you care more for the few things upstairs than for your husband's life," said Silas reproachfully. "Do you want _me_ to go, Silas? What'll the folks in the village say when they hear of it?" "I don't know as I know where the gun is," said Silas nervously. "It's out in the woodshed behind the door." "I don't know as it's loaded. Besides I wouldn't want to be took up for murder."