Now, if Keturah has a horror in this world, it is that delicate play of the emotions commonly known as “woman’s nonsense.”  And therefore did she sit still for three mortal minutes, with her burglars making tracks for the kitchen window under her very eyes, in order to prove to herself and an incredulous public, beyond all shadow of doubt or suspicion, that they were robbers and not dreams; actual flesh and blood, not nightmares; unmistakable hats and coats in a place where hats and coats ought not to be, not clothes-lines and pumps.  She tried hard to make Amram and the Paterfamilias out of them.  Who knew but they also, by some unheard-of revolution in all the laws of nature, were on an exploring expedition after truant sleep?  She struggled manfully after the conviction that they were innocent and unimpeachable neighbors, cutting the short way home across the fields from some remarkably late prayer-meeting.  She agonized after the belief that they were two of Patsy’s sweethearts, come for the commendable purpose of serenading her.

In fact they were almost in the house before this remarkable female was prepared to trust the evidence of her own senses.

But when suspense gloomed into certainty, Keturah is happy to say that she was grandly equal to the occasion.  She slammed open her blinds with an emphasis, and lighted her lamp with a burnt match.

The men jumped, and dodged, and ran, and hid behind the trees, in the most approved manner of burglars, who flee when no woman pursueth; and Keturah, being of far too generous a disposition to enjoy the pleasure of their capture unshared, lost no time in hammering at Amram’s door.

“Amram!”

No answer.

“Amram!”

Silence.

“Am-ram!”

“Oh!  Ugh!  Who—­”

Silence again.

“Amram, wake up!  Come out here—­quick!”

“O-o-oh, yes.  Who’s there?”

“I.”

“I?”

“Keturah.”

“Kefurah?”

“Amram, be quick, or we shall all have our throats cut!  There are some men in the garden.”

“Hey?”

“Men in the garden!”

“Men?”

“In the garden!”

“Garden?”

Keturah can bear a great deal, but there comes a limit even to her proverbial patience.  She burst open the door without ceremony, and is under the impression that Amram received a shaking such as even his tender youth was a stranger to.  It effectually woke him to consciousness, as well as to the gasping and particularly senseless remark, “What on earth was she wringing his neck for?” As if he mightn’t have known!  She has the satisfaction of remembering that he was asked in return, “Did he expect a solitary unprotected female to keep all his murderers away from him, as well as those wolves she drove off the other night?”

However, there was no time to be wasted in tender words, and before a woman could have winked, Amram made his appearance dressed and armed and sarcastically incredulous.  Keturah grasped the pistol, and followed him at a respectful distance.  Stay in the house and hold the light?  Catch her!  She would take the light with her, and the house too, if necessary, but she would be in at the death.