Mr and Mrs Young's small house was in a village, but their 
children's houses were in a town. Then Mr Young died. Mrs 
Young was eighty-five years old, and her children said to her,  [bad word] and live in the town near us, Mother. [bad word] and live 
in one of our houses." But she said, "No, I'm not going to go 
to the town. I'm going to remain here." 
Her children were not happy. They said, "There are a lot of 
burglars here now. Maybe one of them [bad word] into her 
house and take her money and her nice things." 
One Sunday one of her daughters went to Mrs Young's 
house. She saw a key on the ground at the side of the front 
door. "Mother!" she said, "You mustn't put your key there. 
That's the worst place. Burglars can see it and open the door!" 
Mrs Young smiled. "Try to open the door with the key," she 
said. Her daughter did this. The key made a lot of noise, but 
it did not open the door. 
Then Mrs Young said, "I hear the key in the lock, and then 
I get one of my brother's old guns, go out of the back door and 
creep up behind the burglars."