Mr. Ducklow groaned, and turned over. He tried to forget Miss Beswick, Reuben, and the bonds, and at last he fell asleep. "Father!" whispered Mrs. Ducklow, awaking him. "What's the matter?" "I think--I'm pretty sure--hark! I heard something sounded like somebody gitting into the kitchen winder!" "It's your narvousness." Yet Mr. Ducklow listened for further indications of burglary. "Why can't ye be quiet and go to sleep, as you said to me?" "I'm sure I heard something! Anybody might have looked through the blinds and seen us putting--you know--under the carpet." "Nonsense! 't a'n't at all likely." But Mr. Ducklow was more alarmed than he was willing to confess. He succeeded in quieting his wife's apprehensions; but at the same time the burden of solicitude and wakefulness seemed to pass from her mind only to rest upon his own. She soon after fell asleep; but he lay awake, hearing burglars in all parts of the house for an hour longer. "What now?" suddenly exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow, starting up in bed. "I thought I might as well git up and satisfy myself," replied her husband, in a low, agitated voice. He had risen, and was groping his way to the kitchen. "Is there anything?" she inquired, after listening long with chilling blood, expecting at each moment to hear him knocked down or throttled. He made no reply, but presently came gliding softly back again. "I can't find nothin'. But I never in all my life heard the floors creak so! I could have sworn there was somebody walkin' over 'em!" "I guess you're a little excited, a'n't ye?" "No,--I got over that; but I _did_ hear noises!" Mr. Ducklow, returning to his pillow, dismissed his fears, and once more composed his mind for slumber. But the burden of which he had temporarily relieved his wife now returned with redoubled force to the bosom of that virtuous lady. It seemed as if there was only a certain amount of available sleep in the house, and that, when one had it, the other must go without; while at the same time a swarm of fears perpetually buzzed in and out of the mind, whose windows wakefulness left open. "Father!" said Mrs. Ducklow, giving him a violent shake. "Hey? what?"--arousing from his first sound sleep. "Don't you smell something burning?" Ducklow snuffed; Mrs. Ducklow snuffed; they sat up in bed, and snuffed vivaciously in concert. "No,--I can't say I do. Did you?" "Jest as plain as ever I smelt anything in my life! But I don't so"--snuff, snuff--"not quite so distinct now." "Seems to me I _do_ smell somethin'," said Mr. Ducklow, imagination coming to his aid. "It can't be the matches, can it?" "I thought of the matches, but I certainly covered 'em up tight." They snuffed again,--first one, then the other,--now a series of quick, short snuffs, then one long, deep snuff, then a snuff by both together, as if by uniting their energies, like two persons pulling at a rope, they might accomplish what neither was equal to singly.