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“Of what use,” said Elizabeth Eliza, “if we cannot even then get into our own house?”

Mr. Peterkin thought the matter appeared bad, if the locksmith had left town. He feared the young man might have gone in, and helped himself to spoons, and left. Only they should have seen him if he had taken the midnight train. Solomon John thought he appeared honest. Mr. Peterkin only ventured to whisper his suspicions, as he did not wish to arouse Mrs. Peterkin, who still was nodding in the corner of the long bench.

Morning did come at last. The family decided to go to their home; perhaps by some effort in the early daylight they might make an entrance.

On the way they met with the night-policeman, returning from his beat. He stopped when he saw the family.

“Ah! that accounts,” he said; “you were all out last night, and the burglars took occasion to make a raid on your house. I caught a lively young man in the very act; box of tools in his hand! If I had been a minute late he would have made his way in”–

The family then tried to interrupt–to explain–

“Where is he?” exclaimed Mr. Peterkin.

“Safe in the lock-up,” answered the policeman.

“But he is the locksmith!” interrupted Solomon John.

“We have no key!” said Elizabeth Eliza; “if you have locked up the locksmith we can never get in.”

The policeman looked from one to the other, smiling slightly when he understood the case.

“The locksmith!” he exclaimed; “he is a new fellow, and I did not recognize him, and arrested him! Very well, I will go and let him out, that he may let you in!” and he hurried away, surprising the Peterkin family with what seemed like insulting screams of laughter.

“It seems to me a more serious case than it appears to him,” said Mr. Peterkin.

Mrs. Peterkin did not understand it at all. Had burglars entered the house? Did the policeman say they had taken spoons? And why did he appear so pleased? She was sure the old silver teapot was locked up in the closet of their room. Slowly the family walked towards the house, and, almost as soon as they, the policeman appeared with the released locksmith, and a few boys from the street, who happened to be out early.

The locksmith was not in very good humor, and took ill the jokes of the policeman. Mr. Peterkin, fearing he might not consent to open the door, pressed into his hand a large sum of money. The door flew open; the family could go in. Amanda arrived at the same moment. There was hope of breakfast. Mrs. Peterkin staggered towards the stairs. “I shall never go to another Carnival!” she exclaimed.