Another pistol-shot; then another. The sound came from that part of the cellar called the soap-room, directly under Polly's feet.
She did not wait for further warning. Every moment was precious. She meant to save what lives she could, for Polly was strictly conscientious. She took the nearly frantic Dotty into the china closet, dragging her like a sack of meal, and turned the key.
"Stay there, child, if you know when you're well off," whispered she through the keyhole. "The house is blowing up. I'm going to call Abner."
In her consternation Polly had not reflected that Dotty was as likely to be blown up in the closet as anywhere else. The unfortunate little girl screamed and struggled in her prison in vain. There was no way of escape. Night of horrors! As far as she was concerned, there were two ends to the world, and they were coming right together. Her agony is not to be described.
Abner came very soon; but it seemed an age. Being a brave man who had served three months in the army, he had the courage to walk down cellar and face the enemy.
He found nothing worse, however, than a few bottles of beer which had blown off their own heads. He brought them up in his arms.
"Here," said he, "are your burglars, with their throats cut from ear to ear."
"Well, if I ever had such a fright in all the days of my life!" cried Polly, staring at the bottles, and catching her breath.
Abner poured some of the beer into a goblet, and drank to the health of Miss Dimple, who climbed upon his knee, and felt as if the world had suddenly stopped coming to an end; and she was greatly relieved.
"But who fired the guns?" said she, not understanding yet what it all meant.