Her father read a draft prospectus warily, and her aunt dropped fragments of her projects for managing while the cook had a holiday. "My name will only be remembered as that of a robber," he mused; "but it shall be remembered as that of a bold one: and this night's achievement, if it does nothing else, shall prevent me from being classed with the common herd of depredators. "Come! I see the storm has blown over," cried Winifred, brightening up. “How are you feeling?” She asked with grave concern in her voice. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars.
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