The Peabody girls, as people in Hamilton were accustomed to call them, though they were over fifty years of age, lived in an old-fashioned house, consisting of a main part and an L.

It was a prim-looking house, and everything about it looked prim; but nothing could be more neat and orderly. The front yard was in perfect order. Not a stick or a stone was out of place.

In the fall, when the leaves fell from the trees, they were carefully gathered every morning and carried away, for even nature was not allowed to make a litter on the old maids’ premises.

A brass knocker projected from the outer door. The Misses Peabody had not yet adopted the modern innovation of bells. On either side of the front door was a square room—one serving as a parlor, the other as a sitting-room. In the rear of the latter was a kitchen, and in the rear of that was a woodshed. The last two rooms were in the L part. This L part consisted of a single story, surmounted by a gently-sloping roof. From the chamber over the sitting-room one could look out upon the roof of the L part.

This the reader will please to remember.

When Andy knocked at the door at five o’clock, it was opened by Miss Sally Peabody in person.

“I am so glad you have come, Andy,” she said, “and so is sister Susan. I never said anything to her about inviting you, but she thought it a capital idea. We shall feel ever so much safer.”

Of course Andy felt flattered by the importance assigned to his presence. What boy of his age would not?

“I don’t know whether I can do any good, Miss Sally,” he said, “but I am very glad to come.”

“You shan’t be sorry for it,” assured Miss Susan, nodding significantly.

Probably this referred to her promise to pay Andy for his trouble. Our hero would never have asked anything for his service. Still, as the Peabodys were rich—that is, for a country village—he had no objection to receive anything which they might voluntarily offer.

“Come right in, Andy,” said Miss Sally.

She preceded our hero into the sitting-room, where her sister Susan was setting the table for tea.

“Here he is, Susan—here is Andy,” said Sally.

Andy received a cordial welcome from the elder of the two sisters.

“And how is your mother, Andy?” she asked.

“Pretty well, thank you, Miss Susan,” answered Andy, surveying with interest the nice plate of hot biscuit which Miss Susan was placing on the tea table.

He was a healthy boy, and was growing fast, so that he may be pardoned for appreciating a good table.

“We don’t always have hot biscuits, Andy,” said the simple-minded old maid, “but we thought you would like them, and so I told sister Sally that I would make some.”

“I hope you haven’t put yourself out any on my account, Miss Susan,” Andy said.

“It isn’t often we have company,” said Susan, with a smile, “and we ought to have something a little better than common.”

“I am not used to luxurious living, you know,” said Andy.

“How is your mother getting along?” inquired his hostess, sympathetically.

“Very well, thank you!”

“My sister told me Mr. Starr was giving her some trouble.”

“That is true; but I guess it’ll turn out all right.”

“If it doesn’t,” said Sally, “remember what I told your mother. My sister quite agrees with me that we will advance the money to pay the note, if necessary.”

“You are very kind, Miss Sally, but you might never get it back.”

“We will trust your mother—and you, Andy,” said Sally Peabody, kindly. “It wouldn’t ruin us if we did lose the money—would it, Sister Susan?”

“No, indeed!” said Susan. “We shouldn’t borrow any trouble on that account. But supper is ready. I hope you have an appetite, Andy?”

“I generally have,” answered Andy, as he seated himself at the neat supper-table.

Our hero, whether he was in danger from burglars or not, was in danger of being made sick by the overflowing hospitality of the sisters. They so plied him with hot biscuits, cake, preserves and pie that our hero felt uncomfortable when he rose from the table. Even then his hospitable entertainers did not seem to think he had eaten enough.

“Why, you haven’t made a supper, Andy,” said Miss Sally.

“I don’t think I ever ate so much in my life before at a single meal,” answered Andy. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go out and walk a little.”

“Certainly, Andy, if you wish.”

Andy went out and walked about the place.

“How lucky the Peabodys are!” he said to himself. “They have plenty to live upon, and don’t have to earn a cent. I wonder how it would seem if mother and I were as well off? But they’re very kind ladies, and I don’t grudge them their good fortune, even if I am poor myself.”

In one respect Andy was mistaken. It is by no means a piece of good luck to be able to live without work? It takes away, in many cases, the healthy stimulus to action, and leaves life wearisome and monotonous.

More than one young man has been ruined by what the world called his good fortune.

In the corner of a small stable, Andy found a musket. Like most boys, he was attracted by a gun.

“I wonder whether it’s loaded?” he said to himself.

He raised it to his shoulder and pulled the trigger.

Instantly there was a deafening report, and the two old maids ran to the door in dire dismay.

“What’s the matter?” they cried, simultaneously, peeping through a crack of the door.

“I was trying this gun,” said Andy, a little ashamed.

“A gun! Where did it come from?”

“Isn’t it yours?”

“No; we wouldn’t dare to keep a gun about. Why, where did you find it?”

Andy told them, and they concluded it had been left by a neighbor, who had recently done a little work around the place.

Andy was struck by an idea.

“May I take it into the house,” he asked, “and keep it in the chamber where I am to sleep?”

“I shouldn’t dare to have a gun in the house,” said Susan.

“But it isn’t loaded.”

“I think there is no objection,” said Sally, who was not quite so timid as her sister. “We are going to put you into the chamber over the sitting-room,” she added.

“All right!” said Andy.

“The money is in a little trunk under your bed. You won’t be afraid to have it there, will you?”

“I am never afraid of money,” said Andy, smiling.

Andy went to bed at an early hour—at about quarter after nine. It was the custom of the sisters to go to bed early, and he did not wish to interfere with their household arrangements.

The gun he placed in the corner of the room, close to his bed.

He did not know how long he had been asleep, when, all at once, he awoke suddenly. The moonlight was streaming into the room, and by the help of it he saw a villainous-looking face jammed against the pane of the window overlooking the shed.

“A burglar!” thought he, and sprang from the bed.