e a peep at the goosey-gander, and she climbed up the steps on
tip-toe just to look. Nep watched her, and didn't feel easy in his mind,
and when poor pussy just stretched forward her head (because she was a
little short-sighted, I dare say), Nep could bear it no longer. He gave
a great loud bark, and flew along the road after the wretched, flying
cat. Silly dog! while he was gone after puss, and just as he had his
fore-paws quite over her back, up comes a sly thief to the hut door,
quietly unhooks the bird, and runs off the other way, with its head
hanging over his shoulder. "And, so, you see, Sissy," said Uncle Hugh
in his funnily grave way, "poor Jack and I came back to find our dinner
all gone!" But they got scent of the thief, and they caught him and shut
him up in their little hut, and locked him in, and left him with nothing
but bread and water. "For there was no policeman there, Sissy; we had to
play policemen ourselves."

[Illustration: THE DREAM THAT HAUNTED THE THIEF.]

And there they left him all night. And the poor thief thought about his
little hungry children at home, till he fell asleep and dreamt (I wonder
how Uncle Hugh knew that?) that he saw the goose all smoking hot, gravy
and all, and a knife and fork all ready to cut it up.

But they didn't mean to be cruel--I don't believe Uncle Hugh could be!
So they had a nice, hot supper themselves on board the big ship, and
plenty of fun, and lots of merry songs. And then they cut three big
slices and put them aside.

And don't you think the thief-man must have been surprised when he saw
the nice breakfast that Jack brought him next morning? I think Uncle
Hugh said that he wrapped it all up and took it home to his children.
How queer he must have felt as he slunk off, the sailors standing round
and giving him three cheers and plenty of jokes!

III.

_THE LITTLE STOWAWAY._

One of my earliest friends at the Park was a little French boy, a kind
of page of my uncle's. Shall I tell you about him? You will think it
very funny that a servant-boy should be allowed to be my friend, so I
must explain.

Little Gus, as my uncle called him--though his real name was
Gustave--was altogether a little foreigner. He couldn't talk English at
all properly; in fact, the greater part of our conversation was carried
on by signs. He was very much afraid of everybody in the house, except
Uncle Hugh. He thought there was nobody in all the world like the
Captain, as h