I wish he'd never been born.' 'You've a feeling 'art, miss,' said the burglar; 'but them cats is really a little bit too thick.' 'Look here,' said Jane, 'I won't call the police.

And I am quite a real little girl, though I talk older than the kind you've met before when you've been doing your burglings.

And they are real cats--and they want real milk--and--Didn't you say the cow was like somebody's Daisy that you used to know ?' 'Wish I may die if she ain't the very spit of her,' replied the man.
'Well, then,' said Jane--and a thrill of joyful pride ran through her--'perhaps you know how to milk cows ?' 'Perhaps I does,' was the burglar's cautious rejoinder.
'Then,' said Jane, 'if you will ONLY milk ours--you don't know how we shall always love you.' The burglar replied that loving was all very well.
'If those cats only had a good long, wet, thirsty drink of milk,' Jane went on with eager persuasion, 'they'd lie down and go to sleep as likely as not, and then the police won't come back.

But if they go on mewing like this he will, and then I don't know what'll become of us, or you either.' This argument seemed to decide the criminal.

Jane fetched the wash-bowl from the sink, and he spat on his hands and prepared to milk the cow.