The burglar began to milk the cow, and the others went to get things to put the milk in, for it was now spurting and foaming in the wash-bowl, and the cats had ceased from mewing and were crowding round the cow, with expressions of hope and anticipation on their whiskered faces. "We can't get rid of any more cats," said Cyril, as he and his sisters piled a tray high with saucers and soup-plates and platters and pie-dishes; "the police nearly got us as it was. Not the same one--a much stronger sort. He thought it really was a foundling orphan we'd got. If it hadn't been for me throwing the two bags of cat slap in his eye and hauling Robert over a railing, and lying like mice under a laurel bush--well, it's jolly lucky I'm a good shot, that's all. He pranced off when he'd got the cat-bags off his face--thought we'd bolted. And here we are." The gentle sameishness of the milk swishing into the hand-bowl seemed to have soothed the burglar very much. He went on milking in a sort of happy dream, while the children got a cup and ladled the warm milk out into the pie-dishes and plates, and platters and saucers, and set them down to the music of Persian purrs and lappings. [Illustration: "HE WENT ON MILKING IN A SORT OF HAPPY DREAM."] "It makes me think of old times," said the burglar, smearing his ragged coat-cuff across his eyes; "about the apples in the orchard at home, and the rats at threshing time, and the rabbits and the ferrets, and how pretty it was seeing the pigs killed." Finding him in this softened mood, Jane said:-- "I wish you'd tell us how you came to choose our house for your burglaring to-night. I'm awfully glad you did. You _have_ been so kind. I don't know what we should have done without you," she added, hastily. "We all love you ever so. Do tell us." The others added their affectionate entreaties, and at last the burglar said:-- "Well, it's my first job, and I didn't expect to be made so welcome, and that's the truth, young gents and ladies. And I don't know but what it won't be my last. For this 'ere cow, she reminds me of my father, and I know 'ow 'e'd 'ave 'ided me if I'd laid 'ands on a 'apenny as wasn't my own." "Look here," said Cyril, "these cats are very valuable--very, indeed. And we will give them all to you if only you will take them away." "I see they're a breedy lot," replied the burglar; "but I don't want no bother with the coppers. Did you come by them honest, now--straight?" "They are all our very own," said Anthea. "We wanted them; but the confidement----" "Consignment," whispered Cyril. "----was larger than we wanted, and they're an awful bother. If you got your barrow and some sacks or baskets we would be awfully pleased. My father says Persian cats are worth pounds and pounds each."