And in each room was the same kind of blundering half-arrangement of furniture, and fire-irons and crockery, and all sorts of odd things on the floor, but there was nothing to eat; even in the pantry there were only a rusty cake-tin and a broken plate with whitening mixed in it.
"What a horrid old woman!" said Mother; "she's just walked off with the money and not got us anything to eat at all." "Then shan't we have any supper at all ?" asked Phyllis, dismayed, stepping back on to a soap-dish that cracked responsively.
"Oh, yes," said Mother, "only it'll mean unpacking one of those big cases that we put in the cellar.

Phil, do mind where you're walking to, there's a dear.

Peter, hold the light." The cellar door opened out of the kitchen.

There were five wooden steps leading down.

It wasn't a proper cellar at all, the children thought, because its ceiling went up as high as the kitchen's.