Sampson was in school again, much as usual. That night the third and last incident in my story happened.
“We—McLeod and I—slept in a dormitory at right angles to the main building. Sampson slept in the main building on the first floor. There was a very bright full moon. At an hour which I can’t tell exactly, but some time between one and two, I was woken up by somebody shaking me. It was McLeod; and a nice state of mind he seemed to be in. ‘Come,’ he said,—‘come! there's a burglar getting in through Sampson's window.’ As soon as I could speak, I said, ‘Well, why not call out and wake everybody up?’ ‘No, no,’ he said, “I'm not sure who it is: don't make a row: come and look.’ Naturally I came and looked, and naturally there was no one there. I was cross enough, and should have called McLeod plenty of names: only—I couldn't tell why—it seemed to me that there was something wrong—something that made me very glad I wasn’t alone to face it. We were still at the window looking out, and as soon as I could, I asked him what he
