ellar and you would
not know it. Therefore, if any one should break into the basement it
would not disturb us; but to please Mrs. Sparrowgrass, I put stout iron
bars in all the lower windows. Besides, Mrs. Sparrowgrass had bought a
rattle when she was in Philadelphia; such a rattle as watchmen carry
there. This is to alarm our neighbor, who, upon the signal, is to come
to the rescue with his revolver. He is a rash man, prone to pull trigger
first and make inquiries afterward.

One evening Mrs. S. had retired and I was busy writing, when it struck
me a glass of ice-water would be palatable. So I took the candle and a
pitcher and went down to the pump. Our pump is in the kitchen. A country
pump in the kitchen is more convenient; but a well with buckets is
certainly more picturesque. Unfortunately, our well water has not been
sweet since it was cleaned out. First I had to open a bolted door that
lets you into the basement hall, and then I went to the kitchen door,
which proved to be locked. Then I remembered that our girl always
carried the key to bed with her and slept with it under her pillow. Then
I retraced my steps, bolted the basement door, and went up into the
dining-room. As is always the case, I found, when I could not get any
water, I was thirstier than I supposed I was. Then I thought I would
wake our girl up. Then I concluded not to do it. Then I thought of the
well, but I gave that up on account of its flavor. Then I opened the
closet doors: there was no water there; and then I thought of the
dumb-waiter! The novelty of the idea made me smile. I took out two of
the movable shelves, stood the pitcher on the bottom of the dumb-waiter,
got in myself with the lamp; let myself down, until I supposed I was
within a foot of the floor below, and then let go!

We came down so suddenly that I was shot out of the apparatus as if it
had been a catapult; it broke the pitcher, extinguished the lamp, and
landed me in the middle of the kitchen at midnight, with no fire and the
air not much above the zero point. The truth is, I had miscalculated the
distance of the descent--instead of falling one foot, I had fallen five.
My first impulse was to ascend by the way I came down, but I found that
impracticable. Then I tried the kitchen door; it was locked. I tried to
force it open; it was made of two-inch stuff, and held its own. Then I
hoisted a window, and there were the rigid iron bars. If ever I felt
angry at anybody it was at