had been as far as the outer cellar door before, but he had never cared
to go further. When you opened that door, you were met by an air so cold
and damp that it struck your face like a wet sheet, and the stairs fell
away into a black abyss that seemed bottomless.

The door was of iron, rounded at the top to fit the arch, and covered
with rust. It looked as if it had been in its place since the house was
built, and Keith had heard that the house could not be less than two
hundred years old. The key, which Keith had been permitted to carry
going down, was of iron too, and nearly twice as long as Keith's hand.
The lock was in keeping with the key, enormous in size and so stiff that
Lena had to use both hands to turn the key.

Having laid a firm hold of Lena's skirt, Keith followed her several
steps down until they reached a place in the opposite wall where a
single very tall step led up to another iron door, square-cut and
narrow, back of which lay the cellar used by the Wellanders. Lena
lighted a candle that burned with difficulty in the clammy air.

Inside nothing could be seen at first but a number of boxes and barrels
full of supplies, and back of them walls built out of enormous stone
blocks and dripping with moisture. As his eyes became accustomed to the
dim light, however, Keith perceived that the end toward the lane was
closed by a wall which even his inexperienced glance recognized as brick
and comparatively new. Squeezing between two large barrels of potatoes
he saw two stone steps at the foot of that wall and managed actually to
put his foot on one of them.

"I wish I knew what's back of that wall," he remarked at last.