At their special destination
they were sure to be entirely safe. Old Mr. Peter
Van Ness always retired very early. To be sure,
he did not go to sleep until late, and read in bed,
but his room was in the rear of the house on the
second floor, and all the windows, besides, were
dark. Mr. Peter Van Ness was a very wealthy
elderly gentleman, very benevolent. He had given
the village a beautiful stone church with memorial
windows, a soldiers' monument, a park, and a home
for aged couples, called "The Van Ness Home."
Mr. Van Ness lived alone with the exception of a
housekeeper and a number of old, very well-disci-
plined servants. The servants always retired early,
and Mr. Van Ness required the house to be quiet for
his late reading. He was a very studious old gentle-
man.
To the Van Ness house, set back from the street
in the midst of a well-kept lawn, the three repaired,
but not as noiselessly as they could have wished. In
fact, a light flared in an up-stairs window, which
was wide open, and one woman's voice was heard
in conclave with another.
"I should think," said the first, "that the lawn
was full of cats. Did you ever hear such a mewing,
Jane?"
That was the housekeeper's voice. The three,
each of whom carried a squirming burlap potato-bag
from the Trumbull cellar, stood close to a clump
of stately pines full of windy songs, and trem-
bled.
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