"You'll waste your time," said Mr. Daddles, "there's no one left
in there but the policemen,--and you can't wake them up from
here."

"P'licemen?" queried the fat man.

"Whatcher talkin' about?" asked the man with the pitchfork.

"I'm talking about the two policemen who are getting their eight
hours in the library," Mr. Daddles replied, "Poor things! I hope
we didn't disturb them."

"Don't yer believe him, Eb," said another man, "it's some gum
game."

"Look here," I said, "this is all a mistake. We're not burglars.
This house--"

"Yes, we know all about that," said a man, "we've heard this
feller tell all about his Uncle Alfred Peabody's house. It's a
fust-rate story,--only Uncle Alfred's is next door. This is T.
Parker Littlefield's, an' you know it, too."

"I'm afraid we did strike the wrong house, Sam," said Mr. Daddles,
"you see--"

"You betcher struck the wrong house,--you're right there, fast
enough," said a little man, who was hopping up and down in his
excitement. He was the only one of them who was not holding one of