Trot along, boys!"

"Well, good night," grunted Arthur, as he disappeared into his room.

"Good night."

"Don't be too long at it, Ralph."

"No, I won't. Good night, old top."

His gaze followed Tom as his sleepy guest slouched out of the room,
and when he heard Tom's heavy footsteps on the creaking stairs,
he took up his pen once more. Propping his head with his other
hand, and shading his eyes from the lamplight, he wrote on. In a
few minutes the springs of Tom's bed creaked violently as he
dropped down on it, and soon the sound of his heavy breathing in
the room above showed that he was dead to the world.

Ralph's eyelids began to droop drowsily. In vain he struggled to
keep them open. He put his head down on the table, with a sigh,
and before he realized it he was asleep.

The next thing he knew was that he found himself sitting up, wide
awake. He had a distinct impression that he had been roused by the
sound of a human voice. How long he had slept he could not tell.
The lamp had gone out and the room was in inky darkness. As he sat
listening, all at once he heard a sound of some one moving about
the room.

"Wonder if we forgot to lock the kitchen door?" was his first