n, ignoring this appeal to his brother, 'just
try to believe what we tell you and act accordingly. It can't do you any
HARM, you know,' he went on in hoarse whispered earnestness. 'You can't
be very much worse off than you are now, you know. But if you'll just
trust to us we'll get you out of this right enough. No one saw us come
in. The question is, where would you like to go?'

'I'd like to go to Boolong,' was the instant reply of the burglar. 'I've
always wanted to go on that there trip, but I've never 'ad the ready at
the right time of the year.'

'Boolong is a town like London,' said Cyril, well meaning, but
inaccurate, 'how could you get a living there?'

The burglar scratched his head in deep doubt.

'It's 'ard to get a 'onest living anywheres nowadays,' he said, and his
voice was sad.

'Yes, isn't it?' said Jane, sympathetically; 'but how about a sunny
southern shore, where there's nothing to do at all unless you want to.'

'That's my billet, miss,' replied the burglar. 'I never did care about
work--not like some people, always fussing about.'

'Did you never like any sort of work?' asked Anthea, severely.

'Lor', lumme, yes,' he answered, 'gardening was my 'obby, so it was. But
father died afore 'e could bind me to a nurseryman, an'--'

'We'll take you to the sunny southern shore,' said Jane; 'you've no idea
what the flowers are like.'

'Our old cook's there,' said Anthea. 'She's queen--'

'Oh, chuck it,' the burglar whispered, clutching at his head with both
hands. 'I knowed the first minute I see them cats and that cow as it was
a judgement on me. I don't know now whether I'm a-standing on my hat or
my boots, so help me I don't. If you CAN get me out, get me, and if you
can't, get along with you for goodness' sake, and give me a chanst
to think about what'll be most likely to go down with the Beak in the
morning.'

'Come on to the carpet, then,' said Anthea, gently shoving. The others
quietly pulled, and the moment the feet of the burglar were planted on
the carpet Anthea wished:

'I wish we were all on the sunny southern shore where cook is.'

And instantly they were. There were the rainbow sands, the tropic
glories of leaf and flower, and there, of course, was the cook, crowned
with white flowers, and with all the wrinkles of crossness and tiredness
and hard work wiped out of her face.

'Why, cook, you're quite pretty!' Anthea said, as soon as she had got
her breath after the tumble-rush-w