out the cupboards, Nicky-Nan had discovered in the right-hand one
that one or two boards of the flooring were loose. Lifting them
cautiously he had peered into a sort of lazarette deep down in the
wall, and had lowered a candle, the flame of which, catching hold of
a mass of dried cobweb, had shot up and singed his eyebrows, for a
moment threatening to set the house on fire. It had given him a
scare, and he never ventured to carry his exploration further.

His curiosity was the less provoked because at least a score of the
old houses in Polpier have similar recesses, constructed (it is said)
as hiding-places from the press-gang or for smugglers hotly pursued
by the dragoons.

The Penhaligon family inhabited the side of the house that faced the
street, and their large living-room was chiefly remarkable for the
beams supporting the floor above it. They had all been sawn
lengthwise out of a single oak-tree, and the outer edges of some had
been left untrimmed. From a nail in the midmost beam hung a small
rusty key, around which the spiders wove webs and the children many
speculations: for the story went that a brother of the old Doctor's--
the scapegrace of the family--had hung it (the key of his quadrant)
there, with strong injunctions that no one should take it down until
he returned--which he never did. So Mrs Penhaligon's feather-brush
always spared this one spot in the room, every other inch of which
she kept scrupulously dusted. She would not for worlds have
exchanged lodgings with Nicky-Nan, though his was by far the best
bedroom (and far too good for a bachelor man); because from her
windows she could watch whatever crossed the bridge--folks going to
church, and funerals. But the children envied Nicky-Nan, because
from his bedroom window you could--when he was good-natured and