"Oh, hush," cried Billie. Scurrying to his bed and leaning over, she
whispered the awful words: "There's a burglar in the house, Chet."

"A burglar?" repeated Chet, wide awake by this time. "Who says so?"

"Don't be foolish! Didn't I hear him myself?" cried Billie in a desperate
whisper. "Oh, Chet, he's on the stairs outside."

"Well, why doesn't he come in? Is he bashful?" queried Chet, seeming not
in the least alarmed. Billie shook him impatiently.

"He probably would have come in if I hadn't locked the doors," she told
him impatiently. "For goodness' sake, Chet, wake up and tell me what to
do. He may have stolen everything we own by this time."

"Hush," cried Chet, grasping her arm, and in a tense silence they
listened.

Yes, they could not be mistaken--something was surely brushing
against the door.

Thank heaven, she had locked it, thought Billie, as she began to feel her
hair stand on end again.

Once more came that brushing sound. And then, very distinctly, a sniff!

"Oh, Chet," cried Billie, clutching her brother's arm spasmodically.

"Nervy beggar," muttered Chet. "If I had a gun I'd know what to do. But