"No, sir. Before I retired, auntie, here, asked me to lock the woodshed door."
"Where is your woodshed?"
"In the yard, in the rear of the house; and in order to reach it I was obliged to go down two flights of stairs. You may think it strange, sir, but even while I was obeying the instructions of my aunt a horrible dread that something awful was soon to occur came over me, and my trip to the woodshed was made literally in fear and trembling."
"Then, I take it, you were not long in accomplishing your purpose?"
"No, indeed, it took but a second to bolt the woodshed door, and an additional minute or two for me to retrace my steps."
"And then you went to your window?"
"Yes, sir; for, you see, from the window of my room, a person can look down on the rear apartment windows of the basement. I raised the window, but could not hear the words used in the basement below, although the parties there seemed to be still quarreling with their tongues."
"Were they Germans?" asked Old Spicer.
"No, sir; I am quite positive they were not."
"What makes you so sure about it?"