“Phil,” said his mother, “the servant is out tonight. A cousin of hers is sick, and I gave her permission to stay with her all night. Are you willing to close up the house?” “Oh, yes,” answered Phil, briskly. “I’m glad she’s away,” he thought. “She won’t be spying round and see what I’m about. Besides, I can leave the door open, so that it will be easier to accuse Harry Gilbert.” “Good-night,” said his mother. “Good-night, mother.” “Don’t stay up too late reading.” “No, I won’t.” “How many more pages are there, Philip?” asked his father. “About four hundred,” answered Phil, looking over to the end. “Then I wouldn’t advise you to sit up till you’ve finished the book,” he said, jocosely. “I guess not. I shan’t sit up more than half an hour.” So Colonel and Mrs. Ross went upstairs, and the coast was clear. When he was left alone, and felt that the hour so long anticipated had come, Philip’s heart beat fast. “Come; it’s easier than I hoped,” he said to himself. “And father left his keys, too, on the desk. I hope he won’t think of them, and come downstairs after them. That might upset my plans, though I’ve got a lot of old keys in my pocket, and one of them might answer. However, there’s none so good as the real thing.” Philip had to consider whether he would wait till his father and mother were asleep, or act sooner. He at length decided, in the words of Shakespeare, though he was not familiar with them: “If ’twere done with when ’tis done, Then, ’twere well it were done quickly.” The argument was this: If he acted soon, he could make use of his father’s keys, and that would save him trouble. On the other hand, there was some risk that his father might think of them, and, coming downstairs, surprise him. However, Philip didn’t think this was likely, and, in any event, he resolved to take the risk. He could pretend that he had just caught sight of his keys, and was going to carry them upstairs for safekeeping. Indeed, Philip did not wait more than ten minutes. “Father must be in bed by this time,” he said to himself. He took the small lamp by which he was reading, and entered his father’s office. There lay the keys, and there stood the trunk. He took the bunch of keys and selected a small one, which he thought likely to fit the trunk. It did. The lid was lifted, and Philip, with eager hand, took the envelope which he knew contained the government bonds. It was a bulky envelope, and contained probably eight or ten bonds. Of course, Philip didn’t venture to take all. He selected two, of one hundred dollars each, and replaced the others in the envelope, and afterward in the trunk. He put the bonds in his inside coat pocket, and, hastily refastening the trunk, replaced the keys on his father’s desk. He breathed a sigh of relief to think the thing was done, and walked over to the window. What was his gratification to see Harry Gilbert walking by on the other side of the street.