In the stories and the affecting poetry the child could never speak plainly, though it always looked old enough to in the pictures.

And Jane could not make up her mind to lisp and 'talk baby', even to a burglar.

And while she hesitated he softly opened the nursery door and went in.
Jane followed--just in time to see him sit down flat on the floor, scattering cats as a stone thrown into a pool splashes water.
She closed the door softly and stood there, still wondering whether she COULD bring herself to say, 'What's 'oo doing here, Mithter Wobber ?' and whether any other kind of talk would do.
Then she heard the burglar draw a long breath, and he spoke.
'It's a judgement,' he said, 'so help me bob if it ain't.

Oh, 'ere's a thing to 'appen to a chap! Makes it come 'ome to you, don't it neither?
Cats an' cats an' cats.

There couldn't be all them cats.