New Treasure Seekers; Or, The Bastable Children in Search of a Fortune

All was saved. It was the right door. "Go and ask for candles and matches," shouted the brave Oswald. "Tell them there are all sorts of things in here--a _chevaux de frize_ of chair-legs, and----" "A shovel of _what_?" asked Dicky's voice hollowly from the other side of the door. "Freeze," shouted Denny. "I don't know what it means, but do get a candle and make them unbarricade the door. I don't want to go back the way we came." He said something about Oswald's boots that he was sorry for afterwards, so I will not repeat it, and I don't think the others heard, because of the noise the barrels made while they were being climbed over. This noise, however, was like balmy zephyrs compared to the noise the barrels insisted on making when Dicky had collected some grown-ups and the barrels were being rolled away. During this thunder-like interval Denny and Oswald were all the time in the pitch dark. They had lighted their last match, and by its flickering gleam we saw a long, large mangle. "It's like a double coffin," said Oswald, as the match went out. "You can take my arm if you like, Dentist." The Dentist did--and then afterwards he said he only did it because he thought Oswald was frightened of the dark. "It's only for a little while," said Oswald in the pauses of the barrel-thunder, "and I once read about two brothers confined for life in a cage so constructed that the unfortunate prisoners could neither sit, lie, nor stand in comfort. We can do all those things." "Yes," said Denny; "but I'd rather keep on standing if it's the same to you, Oswald. I don't like spiders--not much, that is." "You are right," said Oswald with affable gentleness; "and there might be toads perhaps in a vault like this--or serpents guarding the treasure like in the Cold Lairs. But of course they couldn't have cobras in England. They'd have to put up with vipers, I suppose." Denny shivered, and Oswald could feel him stand first on one leg and then on the other. "I wish I could stand on neither of my legs for a bit," he said, but Oswald answered firmly that this could not be. And then the door opened with a crack-crash, and we saw lights and faces through it, and something fell from the top of the door that Oswald really did think for one awful instant was a hideous mass of writhing serpents put there to guard the entrance. "Like a sort of live booby-trap," he explained; "just the sort of thing a magician or a witch would have thought of doing." But it was only dust and cobwebs--a thick, damp mat of them. Then the others surged in, in light-hearted misunderstanding of the perils Oswald had led Denny into--I mean through, with Mr. Red House and another gentleman, and loud voices and candles that dripped all over everybody's hands, as well as their clothes, and the solitary confinement of the gallant Oswald was at an end. Denny's solitary confinement was at an end, too--and he was now able to stand on both legs and to let go the arm of his leader who was so full of fortitude. "This _is_ a find," said the pleased voice of Mr. Red House. "Do you know, we've been in this house six whole months and a bit, and _we_ never thought of there being a door here." "Perhaps you don't often play 'King of the Castle,'" said Dora politely; "it _is_ rather a rough game, I always think." "Well, curiously enough, we never have," said Mr. Red House, beginning to lift out the chairs, in which avocation we all helped, of course. "Nansen is nothing to you! You ought to have a medal for daring explorations," said the other gentleman, but nobody gave us one, and, of course, we did not want any reward for doing our duty, however tight and cobwebby. The cellars proved to be well stocked with spiders and old furniture, but no toads or snakes, which few, if any, regretted. Snakes are outcasts from human affection. Oswald pities them, of course. There was a great lumpish thing in four parts that Mr. Red House said was a press, and a ripping settle--besides the chairs, and some carved wood that Mr. Red House and his friend made out to be part of an old four-post bed. There was also a wooden thing like a box with another box on it at one end, and H.O. said-- "You could make a ripping rabbit-hutch out of that." Oswald thought so himself. But Mr. Red House said he had other uses for it, and would bring it up later. It took us all that was left of the afternoon to get the things up the stairs into the kitchen. It was hard work, but we know all about the dignity of labour. The general hated the things we had so enterprisingly discovered. I suppose she knew who would have to clean them, but Mrs. Red House was awfully pleased and said we were dears. We were not very clean dears by the time our work was done, and when the other gentleman said, "Won't you all take a dish of tea under my humble roof?" the words "Like this?" were formed by more than one youthful voice. "Well, if you would be happier in a partially cleansed state?" said Mr. Red House. And Mrs. Red House, who is my idea of a feudal lady in a castle, said, "Oh, come along, let's go and partially clean ourselves. I'm dirtier than anybody, though I haven't explored a bit. I've often noticed that the more you admire things the more they come off on you!" So we all washed as much as we cared to, and went to tea at the gentleman's house, which was only a cottage, but very beautiful. He had been a war correspondent, and he knew a great many things, besides having books and books of pictures. It was a splendid party. We thanked Mrs. R.H. and everybody when it was time to go, and she kissed the girls and the little boys, and then she put her head on one side and looked at Oswald and said, "I suppose you're too old?" Oswald did not like to say he was not. If kissed at all he would prefer it being for some other reason than his being not too old for it. So he did not know what to say. But Noel chipped in with-- "_You'll_ never be too old for it," to Mrs. Red House--which seemed to Oswald most silly and unmeaning, because she was already much too old to be kissed by people unless she chose to begin it. But every one seemed to think Noel had said something clever. And Oswald felt like a young ass. But Mrs. R.H. looked at him so kindly and held out her hand so queenily that, before he knew he meant to, he had kissed it like you do the Queen's. Then, of course, Denny and Dicky went and did the same. Oswald wishes that the word "kiss" might never be spoken again in this world. Not that he minded kissing Mrs. Red House's hand in the least, especially as she seemed to think it was nice of him to--but the whole thing is such contemptible piffle. We were seen home by the gentleman who wasn't Mr. Red House, and he stood a glorious cab with a white horse who had a rolling eye, from Blackheath Station, and so ended one of the most adventuring times we ever got out of a play-beginning. The _time_ ended as the author has pointed out, but not its resultingness. Thus we ever find it in life--the most unharmful things, thoroughly approved even by grown-ups, but too often lead to something quite different, and that no one can possibly approve of, not even yourself when you come to think it over afterwards, like Noel and H.O. had to. It was but natural that the hearts of the young explorers should have dwelt fondly on everything underground, even drains, which was what made us read a book by Mr. Hugo, all the next day. It is called "The Miserables," in French, and the man in it, who is a splendid hero, though a convict and a robber and various other professions, escapes into a drain with great rats in it, and is miraculously restored to the light of day, unharmed by the kindly rodents. (N.B.--Rodents mean rats.) When we had finished all the part about drains it was nearly dinner-time, and Noel said quite suddenly in the middle of a bite of mutton-- "The Red House isn't nearly so red as ours is outside. Why should the cellars be so much cellarier? Shut up H.O.!" For H.O. was trying to speak. Dora explained to him how we don't all have exactly the same blessings, but he didn't seem to see it. "It doesn't seem like the way things happen in books," he said, "In Walter Scott it wouldn't be like that, nor yet in Anthony Hope. I should think the rule would be the redder the cellarier. If I was putting it into poetry I should make our cellars have something much wonderfuller in them than just wooden things. H.O., if you don't shut up I'll never let you be in anything again." "There's that door you go down steps to," said Dicky; "we've never been in there. If Dora and I weren't going with Miss Blake to be fitted for boots we might try that." "That's just what I was coming to. (Stow it, H.O.!) I felt just like cellars to-day, while you other chaps were washing your hands for din.--and it was very cold; but I made H.O. feel the same, and we went down, and--that door _isn't shut now_." The intelligible reader may easily guess that we finished our dinner as quickly as we could, and we put on our outers, sympathising with Dicky and Dora, who, owing to boots, were out of it, and we went into the garden. There are five steps down to that door. They were red brick when they began, but now they are green with age and mysteriousness and not being walked on. And at the bottom of them the door was, as Noel said, not fastened. We went in. "It isn't beery, winey cellars at all," Alice said; "it's more like a robber's store-house. Look there." We had got to the inner cellar, and there were heaps of carrots and other vegetables. "Halt, my men!" cried Oswald, "advance not an inch further! The bandits may lurk not a yard from you!" "Suppose they jump out on us?" said H.O. "They will not rashly leap into the light," said the discerning Oswald. And he went to fetch a new dark-lantern of his that he had not had any chance of really using before. But some one had taken Oswald's secret matches, and then the beastly lantern wouldn't light for ever so long. But he thought it didn't matter his being rather a long time gone, because the others could pass the time in wondering whether anything would jump out on them, and if so, what and when. So when he got back to the red steps and the open door and flashed his glorious bull's-eye round it was rather an annoying thing for there not to be a single other eye for it to flash into. Every one had vanished. "Hallo!" cried Oswald, and if his gallant voice trembled he is not ashamed of it, because he knows about wells in cellars, and, for an instant, even he did not know what had happened. But an answering hullo came from beyond, and he hastened after the others. "Look out," said Alice; "don't tumble over that heap of bones." Oswald did look out--of course, he would not wish to walk on any one's bones. But he did not jump back with a scream, whatever Noel may say when he is in a temper. The heap really did look very like bones, partly covered with earth. Oswald was glad to learn that they were only parsnips. "We waited as long as we could," said Alice, "but we thought perhaps you'd been collared for some little thing you'd forgotten all about doing, and wouldn't be able to come back, but we found Noel had, fortunately, got your matches. I'm so glad you weren't collared, Oswald dear." Some boys would have let Noel know about the matches, but Oswald didn't. The heaps of carrots and turnips and parsnips and things were not very interesting when you knew that they were not bleeding warriors' or pilgrims' bones, and it was too cold to pretend for long with any comfort to the young Pretenders. So Oswald said-- "Let's go out on the Heath and play something warm. You can't warm