dishonorable!--intention of proving himself worthy of her
confidence.

"If ye please, miss," he said, pointing toward his confiscated revolver.

"Certainly; you may take it. But of course you won't kill anybody?"

"No, miss; only I'm sort o' lonesome without ut when I'm on a job."

"And you do understand," she said, following him to the door and noting in
the distance the headlight of an approaching trolley, "that I'm only doing
this in the hope that good may come of it. It isn't really criminal, you
know; if you succeed, it may mean the happiest Christmas of my life!"

"Yes, miss. I won't come back till mornin', but don't you worry none. We
gotta play safe, miss, an' ef I land th' jugs I'll find cover till I kin
deliver 'em safe."

"Thank you; oh, thank you ever so much! And good luck!"

She put out her hand; he held it gingerly for a moment in his rough
fingers and ran for the car.

VII

The Hopper, in his role of the Reversible Santa Claus, dropped off the car
at the crossing Muriel had carefully described, waited for the car to
vanish, and warily entered the Wilton estate through a gate set in the
stone wall. The clouds of the early evening had passed and the stars
marched through the heavens resplendently, proclaiming peace on earth and
good-will toward men. They were almost oppressively brilliant, seen
through the clear, cold atmosphere, and as The Hopper slipped from one big
tree to another on his tangential course to the house, he fortified his
courage by muttering, "They's things wot is an' things wot
ain't!"--finding much comfort and stimulus in the phrase.

Arriving at the conservatory in due course, he found that Muriel's
averments as to the vulnerability of that corner of her father's house
were correct in every particular. He entered with ease, sniffed the warm,
moist air, and, leaving the door slightly ajar, sought the pantry, lowered
the shades, and, helping himself to a candle from a silver candelabrum,
readily found the safe hidden away in one of the cupboards. He was
surprised to find himself more nervous with the combination in his hand
than on memorable occasions in the old days when he had broken into
country postoffices and assaulted safes by force. In his haste he twice
failed to give the proper turns, but the third time the knob caught, and
in a moment the door swung open disclosing shelves filled with vases,
bottles, bowls, and plates in bewildering variety. A chest of silver