No doubt it had been left open, and burglars had got into the cellar.

O, what a responsibility had been put upon her! and why hadn't somebody particularly warned her to attend to that door?
Perhaps the burglars were stealing pork.

But they would not have fired a pistol at the barrel--would they?
O, no; they were trying to blow up the house! Polly took three pinches of snuff, one after the other, as fast as she could, slipped off her shoes, went to the kitchen window, and peeped through the blinds.

Not much to be seen but moonlight, and the deep shadows of the ragged trees.
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.