"Don't know," faltered the luckless youngster, speaking the truth for once in his life. "Fell." "Fell! How did you come to fall? What are you out o' bed for?" "Don't know,"--snivelling and rubbing his eyes. "Didn't know I was." "Got up without knowing it! That's a likely story! How could that happen, you Sir?" said Mrs. Ducklow. "Don't know, 'thout 't was I got up in my sleep," said Taddy, who had on rare occasions been known to indulge in moderate somnambulism. "In your sleep!" said Mr. Ducklow, incredulously. "I guess so. I was dreamin' you brought me home a new drum,--tucked down yer--boot-leg," faltered Taddy. "Strange!" said Mr. Ducklow, with a glance at his wife. "But how could I bring a drum in my boot-leg?" "Don't know, 'thout it's a new kind, one that'll shet up." Taddy looked eagerly round, but saw nothing new or interesting, except some curious-looking papers which Mrs. Ducklow was hastily tucking into an envelope. "Say, did ye, pa?" "Did I? Of course I didn't! What nonsense! But how came ye down here? Speak the truth!" "I dreamt you was blowin' it up, and I sprung to ketch it, when, fust I knowed, I was on the floor, like a thousan' o' brick! 'Mos' broke my knee-pans!" whimpered Taddy. "Say, didn't ye bring me home nothin'? What's them things?" "Nothin' little boys know anything about. Now run back to bed again. I forgot to buy you a drum to-day, but I'll git ye somethin' next time I go to town,--if I think on 't." "So ye always say, but ye never think on't!" complained Taddy. "There, there! Somebody's comin'! What a lookin' object you are, to be seen by visitors!" There was a knock. Taddy disappeared. Mr. Ducklow turned anxiously to his wife, who was hastily hiding the bonds in her palpitating bosom. "Who can it be this time o' night?" "Sakes alive!" said Mrs. Ducklow, in whose mind burglars were uppermost, "I wish, whoever 't is, they'd keep away! Go to the door," she whispered, resuming her work. Mr. Ducklow complied; and, as the visitor entered, there she sat plying her needle as industriously and demurely as though neither bonds nor burglars had ever been heard of in that remote rural district. "Ah, Miss Beswick, walk in!" said Mr. Ducklow. A tall, spare, somewhat prim-looking female of middle age, with a shawl over her head, entered, nodding a curt and precise good-evening, first to Mr. Ducklow, then to his wife. "What, that you?" said Mrs. Ducklow, with curiosity and surprise. "Where on 'arth did you come from? Set her a chair, why don't ye, father?" Mr. Ducklow, who was busy slipping his feet into a pair of old shoes, hastened to comply with the hospitable suggestion. "I've only jest got home," said he, apologetically, as if fearful lest the fact of his being caught in his stocking-feet should create suspicions: so absurdly careful of appearances some people become, when they have anything to conceal. "Jest had time to kick my boots off, you see. Take a seat."