"Now, my dear, take care of yourself, for this bolt slides very easily, and if, while you happened to be walking across this place, you were to push the bolt back, the trap-door would drop and you fall down—heaven knows where!"
"Is there a cellar under there?" inquired Capitola, gazing with interest upon the door.
"Lord knows, child; I don't. I did once make one of the nigger men let it down so I could look in it; but, Lord, child, I saw nothing but a great, black, deep vacuity, without bottom or sides. It put such a horror over me that I have never looked down there since, and never want to, I'm sure."
"Ugh! for goodness' sake what was the horrid thing made for?" ejaculated Capitola, gazing as if fascinated by the trap.
"The Lord only knows, my dear; for it was made long before ever the house came into the major's family. But they do say——" whispered Mrs. Condiment, mysteriously.
"Ah! what do they say?" asked Capitola, eagerly, throwing off her bonnet and shawl and settling herself to hear some thrilling explanation.
Mrs. Condiment slowly replaced the rug, drew another chair to the side of the young girl and said:
"They do say it was—a trap for Indians!"
"A trap for Indians?"
"Yes, my dear. You must know that this room belongs to the oldest part of the house. It was all built as far back as the old French and Indian war; but this room belonged to the part that dates back to the first settlement of the country."