CHAPTER V.
THE ATTIC CHAMBER.
Squire Pemberton rushed down cellar.

He was very much excited, and forgot that he had been troubled with the rheumatism during the preceding winter.
When he opened the cellar door, he was considerably relieved to find that no brilliant light saluted his expectant gaze.

It was as cold and dark in the cellar as it had been when he sorted over the last of his Warren Russets, a few days before.
It was certain, therefore, that the house was not on fire; and, invigorated by this thought, he descended the stairs.

A strong current of fresh, cold air extinguished the light he carried.

As this was contrary to his usual experience when he went down cellar in the evening after an apple or a mug of cider, it assured him that there was a screw loose somewhere.