“Be quick,” said my wife. “In a minute,” said I. I tipped around to the wall on the side of the bed, and took down an old iron sword, which had done duty in the Mexican war, and which we had preserved as an heirloom. “Hurry, hurry, Dan!” said my wife. “All right,” I said with meekness. I took the sword in one hand and the lamp in the other, and moved gently toward the door, which opened from our bed-room into the dining-room. Pausing at the door, I said,---- “Hallo! Hallo, in there!” The response came from my wife in bed. “Open the door, Dan; open the door!” Humbly I placed the lamp on the floor close by the door, caught a tight grip on my old war-piece, and then quickly shoved the door wide open. I intended, of course, after getting my bearings, to pick up the lamp and enter the dining-room on a tour of inspection. But, I assure you, there was no time for any such careful procedure. As soon as the door was opened and the light went streaming into the dining-room, something fell to the floor with a terrible thud, and quicker than it takes to tell it a great big black something, that looked to me like a buffalo or elephant, came bounding toward me. It was all so sudden that it surprised me, and I fell back trembling. Over went the lamp. It broke. Out came the oil. It took fire, and pretty soon the Cambrequin close by took fire. Down I snatched it. I reached for the first thing handy, and tried to smother the fire on the floor. In doing so, I stepped on a piece of glass and cut my foot. I burnt my hands terribly. My night shirt caught on fire. I ran to the bed and sat down in order to quench the blaze. This shows I still had some presence of mind left, although, as a matter of fact, this new extinguishing process scorched my legs awfully. [Illustration: HUNTING THE BURGLAR.] When all was quiet again, and I lit another lamp in order to take an inventory, my bedroom was a sight to behold! I found that in the struggle, my old army sword had been plunged amidship into the handsome mirror of our dresser, and had also made havoc of a reproduction of Millets’ Angelus. I discovered, also, that I had used my brand-new $50 overcoat to extinguish the fire, and that many of the handsome photos of our friends that stood on the mantle had been ruined. Altogether that one night’s experience cost me in the neighborhood of $100, not to mention my own personal injuries. It was a terrible night, I tell you. And far off in one corner, I saw, crouching in abject fear, the cause of all my troubles--the burly black burglar. And what do you think it was? It was nothing in the world but an old black Tom Cat, who had been a member of our family for many years! PIN-MONEY MADE WITH THE NEEDLE.