“Moo-o-o-o-o-o!”

It was a second or two before we could laugh.

“Well, you miserable old cow!” exclaimed Mr. Daddles, “you nearly scared a crowd of burglars to death!”

And he walked up to her, where she had already begun to feed again, and slapped her fat side.  She paid no attention to him, but kept on cropping the grass.

“Come on, now, boys.  I thought we were attacked by a hippopotamus, at least.”

“I thought it was a man without any legs,” said Jimmy.

“I thought it was a real burglar,” said I.

“I dunno what I thought it was,” said Ed Mason, “and that was the worst of it.”

And if any of you who read this think we were a silly lot to be frightened by an old cow, it is because you have never met one at night, in a thick fog.  You try it some time, and see.

We went down a little slope, and came up behind the house and barn.  We crossed a vegetable patch, and then a flower-garden.

Jimmy stopped Mr. Daddles.

“We’d better look out for the dog.”

“No; my uncle never keeps one,—­he doesn’t like ’em.”

In a grape-arbor, right back of the house, we paused to decide on a plan of action.

“We’ll try that window first,” said our leader, pointing, “and then the others on the veranda.  I don’t want to break one if we can help it.  If we have to, we’ll take a basement window.  You stay here a second.”

He darted out of the arbor, and ran noiselessly up the steps.  He tried a window, gave it up, and tip-toed along the veranda to another.  No sooner had he started to raise the sash than he turned and beckoned to us.  In an instant we were out of the arbor, and at the window with him.

“This is great luck,—­look!”

He raised the window without any trouble at all.

“Very careless of Aunt Fanny,—­but it saves us from having to smash one.”

We all climbed inside a small room.  When he had closed the window, and pulled down the shade, Ed Mason lighted a match.

“The pantry!” we all exclaimed.

“Yes, we’ve landed on our feet at last.  Is that shade down?  Light the gas ... keep it turned low,—­that’s right.  Now, let’s see.  We won’t find much,—­family’s gone away ... taken all the pie with ’em, as I said, still, there ought to be something—­”

We were all rummaging amongst the shelves and cupboards.

“Hum!” said Mr. Daddles, “stove-polish.  Anybody want any stove-polish?  Raw oatmeal,—­that’s a little better, but not much.  Not much choice between ’em.  What’s this? ...  Starch.  Nice lot of nutritious food Aunt Fanny leaves for her burglars.  Now, with some flat-irons and a couple of stove-lids we could make up a jolly little meal.  What have you got there?”

I had found some dried currants in a tin box, Jimmy had a bottle of vanilla extract, while Ed Mason exhibited a box of tapioca, or something of the sort.