"I wish I could stand on neither of my legs for a bit," he said, but Oswald answered firmly that this could not be.
And then the door opened with a crack-crash, and we saw lights and faces through it, and something fell from the top of the door that Oswald really did think for one awful instant was a hideous mass of writhing serpents put there to guard the entrance.
"Like a sort of live booby-trap," he explained; "just the sort of thing a magician or a witch would have thought of doing."
But it was only dust and cobwebs—a thick, damp mat of them.
Then the others surged in, in light-hearted misunderstanding of the perils Oswald had led Denny into—I mean through, with Mr. Red House and another gentleman, and loud voices and candles that dripped all over everybody's hands, as well as their clothes, and the solitary confinement of the gallant Oswald was at an end. Denny's solitary confinement was at an end, too—and he was now able to stand on both legs and to let go the arm of his leader who was so full of fortitude.
"This is a find," said the pleased voice of Mr. Red House. "Do you know, we've been in this house six whole months and a bit, and we never thought of there being a door here."
"Perhaps you don't often play 'King of the Castle,'" said Dora politely; "it is rather a rough game, I always think."
"Well, curiously enough, we never have," said Mr. Red House, beginning to lift out the chairs, in which avocation we all helped, of course.
"Nansen is nothing to you! You ought to have a medal for daring explorations," said the other gentleman, but nobody gave us one, and, of course, we did not want any reward for doing our duty, however tight and cobwebby.
The cellars proved to be well stocked with spiders and old furniture, but no toads or snakes, which few, if any, regretted. Snakes are outcasts from human affection. Oswald pities them, of course.