There was some further planning, so that it was eleven o’clock before they retired.  Napoleon went to bed hungry that night, if indeed since the Chicago fire he had ever gone to bed in any other condition.  He dropped off to sleep, however, and all through his dreams he was eating—­oh such good things!—­juicy steaks, feathery biscuits, flaky pies, baked apples and cream.  He awoke with an empty feeling, an old familiar feeling, which had often caused him to awake contemplating a midnight raid on the cupboard.  But poor Napoleon had been restrained by conscientious scruples and by the fear of his mother’s tongue, for he appreciated the altered condition of the family.  But now they were all rich again there was no longer any necessity for pinching his stomach.  There were in the cupboard some biscuits intended for breakfast, and some cold ham.  He remembered how tempting they had looked as his mother set them away.  Now they fairly haunted him as he lay thinking how favorable the moonlight was to his contemplated burglary.  He left his bed, not stealthily:  he was not of a nature to be specially mortified by discovery.  He made his way to the dining-room.  In one of the recesses made by the chimney Dr. Lively had constructed a kind of cupboard, and in the other recess he had put up some shelves, where their few books and the case of sea-weeds lay.  Napoleon cut some generous slices of ham, and with the biscuits constructed several sandwiches.  Then he seated himself by the window for the benefit of the moonlight.  This brought him within a few feet of the shelves where the sea-weeds were.  There he sat in his night-dress, his bare feet on the chair-round, vigorously eating his sandwiches.  Suddenly he heard a soft, stealthy, gliding noise in the hall.  It was as though trailing drapery was sweeping over the naked floor.  He gave a gulping swallow, paused in his eating and listened intently.  The stillness of death reigned through the house.  He crammed half a sandwich in his mouth and began a cautious chewing.  Again the trailing sound, and again his jaws were stilled.  At the door entered a tall figure in flowing white robes.  Steadily it advanced upon him, seeming to walk or glide on the air.  For once there was something in which he was more interested than in eating.  At last the ghost stood close beside him, and he saw with his staring eyes that it wore a veil and carried its left hand in its bosom.  The boy sat rooted with horror, his tongue loaded, his cheeks puffed with his feast, afraid to swallow lest the noise of the act should reveal him.  The figure withdrew its hand from its bosom:  it held a roll of bankbills.  It reached out for the case of sea-weeds, laid the bills carefully between the cards, returned these to the case and the case to the shelf.  It stood a moment in the broad moonlight, then lifted the veil, and revealed to the astonished boy the face of his mother.  She stood within two feet of him, her eyes on his face, but she did not speak.