And she latched the stairway-door, greatly to the dismay of Master Taddy, who felt that some vast and momentous secret was being kept from him. Overhearing whispered conferences between his adopted parents in the morning, noticing also the cautious glances they cast at him, and the persistency with which they repeatedly sent him away out of sight on slight and absurd pretences, he had gathered a fact and drawn an inference, namely, that a great purchase was to be made by Mr. Ducklow that day in town, and that, on his return, he (Taddy) was to be surprised by the presentation of what he had long coveted and teased for,--a new drum. To lie quietly in bed under such circumstances was an act that required more self-control than Master Taddy possessed. Accordingly he stole down stairs and listened, feeling sure, that, if the drum should come in, Mrs. Ducklow, and perhaps Mr. Ducklow himself, would be unable to resist the temptation of thumping it softly to try its sound. Mrs. Ducklow was busy taking her husband's supper out of the oven, where it had been keeping warm for him, pouring hot water into the teapot, and giving the last touches to the table. Then came the familiar grating noise of a boot on the scraper. Mrs. Ducklow stepped quickly to open the door for Mr. Ducklow. Taddy, well aware that he was committing an indiscretion, but inspired by the wild hope of seeing a new drum come into the kitchen, ventured to unlatch the stairway-door, open it a crack, and peep. Mr. Ducklow entered, bringing a number of parcels containing purchases from the stores, but no drum visible to Taddy. "Did you buy?" whispered Mrs. Ducklow, relieving him of his load. Mr. Ducklow pointed mysteriously at the stairway-door, lifting his eyebrows interrogatively. "Taddy?" said Mrs. Ducklow. "Oh, he's abed,--though I never in my life had such a time to git him off out of the way; for he'd somehow got possessed with the idee that you was to buy something, and he wanted to set up and see what it was." "Strange how children will ketch things sometimes, best ye can do to prevent!" said Mr. Ducklow. "But did ye buy?" "You better jest take them matches and put 'em out o' the way, fust thing, 'fore ye forgit it. Matches are dangerous to have layin' around, and I never feel safe till _they_'re safe." And Mr. Ducklow hung up his hat, and laid his overcoat across a chair in the next room, with a carefulness and deliberation exhausting to the patience of good Mrs. Ducklow, and no less trying to that of Master Taddy, who was waiting to hear the important question answered. "Come!" said she, after hastily disposing of the matches, "what's the use of keeping me in suspense? _Did_ ye buy?" "Where did ye put 'em?" asked Mr. Ducklow, taking down the bootjack. "In the little tin pail, where we always keep 'em, of course! Where should I put 'em?"