Jasper came running back across the yard with Will Dove, who carried a shotgun, and Caleb Snow, whom they had annexed with his winkle-fork.
“Did you find any one?” shouted Jasper.
We motioned to him to be quiet and pointed to the room above.
“How about Mrs. Dove?” I asked anxiously.
“Oh, she’s all right,” said her husband; “she’s to home.”
The men fell silent, listening to the ominous footsteps that crossed and recrossed the ceiling.
Will Dove began to whisper. “My wife, she thought”—we all drew closer together—“she had to find a place to put the beach-plum jelly—she’s like that! She looked all over the rooms, and then decided she would rip up the kitchen oilcloth and see what was below. And there it was—the door to the round cellar! While she was taking up the tacks she kept hearing noises, so she thought she must be right and kept on going. Maybe it was rats running around. She ain’t afraid of rats.
“The trap wasn’t locked, just covered over, and she jerked it up and was going down, when she see a man in there.
“‘Who’s that?’ she yelled.
“He never answered, but he disappeared! He wasn’t there any more! She looked down, and lit a candle and held it over, but he was gone. She could see where he had been livin’, but it was empty.