For the remainder of the night, Andy, as the saying is, slept with one eye open. The burglar had enough to think of, and it seemed very unlikely that he would make another attempt to enter the house. Still, Andy thought it best to watch him.

Through the window he could see Hogan dipping his face again and again in the trough. This continued for perhaps half an hour. Then he slowly left the yard, but not without shaking his fist at the house which contained the young hero who had balked him in his unlawful designs. To be brief, for the remainder of the night the house had rest.

Early in the morning the two sisters came downstairs. Andy, who had dressed himself, to be prepared for an emergency, was lying on the sofa, sleeping peacefully.

“Poor boy!” murmured Susan. “What a terrible night he must have passed!”

“And all in our defense, too. I never dreamed that he was so brave.”

“It’s a mercy the burglar didn’t carry him off.”

“It was the money he wanted, sister.”

“But he might have killed Andy.”

“That is true. It seems to me, sister, we ought to pay him handsomely for what he has done.”

“I am quite of your opinion, Sister Sally. How much do you think we ought to give him?”

“I wouldn’t do what he did for fifty dollars.”

“Shall it be fifty dollars, then?”

“If you are willing.”

“I am quite willing. Do you dare to go up with me into the chamber overhead?”

“I don’t know. It makes me tremble to think of it.”

Finally the two sisters mustered the necessary courage and cautiously crept upstairs, and paused before the door, which was locked upon the outside.

“Suppose the wicked man is inside?” suggested Susan, trembling.

“Oh, there is no fear! He wouldn’t care to stay after he found the money gone.”

With some apprehension, they opened the door. When they saw the wreck of glass and wood upon the carpet, they raised their hands in dismay.

“What a terrible fight poor Andy must have had!” said Susan.

“He has done better than a man,” exclaimed Sally, enthusiastically.

I am inclined to think that Miss Sally was right, and that many men would have displayed less boldness and shrewdness than our young hero.

“Why, here is the teakettle!” said Sally. “How in the world did it come here?”

“And here is the tin dipper. Well, Andy will tell us when he wakes up. We must give him a good breakfast. He deserves it, after all he has done.”

At eight o’clock, Andy sat down to a nice breakfast. It seemed that neither of the two ladies could express sufficient gratitude, or induce him to eat enough.

“But for you, Andy, we might have been murdered in our beds.”

“I don’t think so,” answered Andy, modestly; “but I think you would have lost your money.”

“That we should! Now tell us all about it.”

So Andy told the story, amid exclamations of wonder and admiration from the two sisters.

“How in the world could the man know we had so much money in the house?” said Susan, in wonder.

“He seemed to know just how much there was,” said Andy. “He mentioned the amount. I think he must have overheard one of you speaking of it.”

“I didn’t really suppose there was any burglar about,” said Sally. “How lucky it was that we engaged you to come and stay here!”

Andy was modest, but he could not, with truth, disclaim this praise. He knew very well that he had been instrumental, under Providence, in saving the old ladies from being robbed.

“I don’t know whether you would be willing to stay here to-night, Andy, after the experience you had last night,” said Sally.

“Oh, yes!”

“And you are not afraid?”

“I don’t think the man will come again,” said Andy, laughing. “I don’t believe he liked the reception I gave him. He knows how it feels to get into hot water.”

It is needless to say that the news of the midnight attack upon the house of the Peabody sisters spread like wildfire through the village.

Probably not less than a hundred persons called to see the demolished window, and Andy had to tell the story over and over till he was weary of it.

Among those who were interested was Herbert Ross. He suspected, and rightly, that it was the same man who had stopped at his father’s gate, and nearly strangled his dog Prince.

He felt that if this was so, a part of the public interest would center upon him, and accordingly, forgetting his recent difficulty with Andy, he cross-questioned our hero as to the appearance of the burglar.

“Did he have black hair?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And a face that had not been shaved for a week?”

“Yes; as well as I could see in the dim light.”

“And wasn’t very tall?”

“No; he was rather short and thickset, with a ragged suit of clothes.”

“It’s the very man that called at our house!” exclaimed Herbert, in excitement.

Of course, he was questioned, and gave an account of the call of Hogan, in which he appeared to considerably greater advantage than he had actually done.

“He was very impudent,” said Herbert, boastfully; “but I gave him to understand that I would have him arrested if he didn’t leave pretty quick.”

“Did that frighten him?” asked a neighbor, with a queer smile.

“Oh, yes,” said Herbert. “He saw that he had hold of the wrong customer, and tramped off in a different direction.”

“What would you have done if you had been in Andy’s place last night?”

“I wouldn’t have let him in.”

“But do you think you could have driven him off?”

“Certainly,” answered Herbert, confidently. “Andy did very well,” he added, condescendingly; “but I should have succeeded as well in keeping the rascal out of the house.”

“Why don’t you offer to stay at the house to-night? No doubt, Andy will be glad to rest?”

“I don’t let myself out for any such purpose,” said Herbert, hastily. “He is a poor boy, and needs the money. You wouldn’t expect a gentleman’s son to engage in any such business?”

“Andy is a gentleman’s son. If ever there was a gentleman, Mr. Gordon was one.”

“No doubt he was a very worthy man,” said Herbert, patronizingly; “but that isn’t what I mean.”

Herbert succeeded in his wish to draw attention to himself, and told the story of his encounter with the tramp and burglar many times—adding a little every time—till, by dint of repetitions, he persuaded himself that he had acted a very heroic part, and was entitled to share the honors of the day with Andy.

Unlike our hero, he was perfectly willing to tell the story over and over as many times as he could obtain a fresh auditor.

On Monday morning, Andy’s guard was over; but there was still a service which the old ladies desired of him.

The money was to be deposited in the Cranston Bank, located six miles away. There was no railroad connecting the two places, and the road was a lonely one, extending part of the way through the woods.

On previous occasions, the ladies had themselves gone to the bank, when they had occasion to deposit money, but the recent attempt at burglary had so terrified them that they felt afraid to venture.

In their emergency, they thought of Andy, and asked him if he would be willing to drive over and carry the money with him.

“Oh, yes!” answered Andy, who was fond of driving. “I couldn’t go till I had attended to my duties at the academy, but I should be through by nine o’clock.”

“That would be early enough. But you would lose school.”

“Only for half a day, and Dr. Euclid would excuse me.”

So it was arranged that Andy was to carry the five hundred dollars to the Cranston Bank.