the shelves on which had once reposed the records of Green Briar County. They were of iron, as a safe-guard against fire, with a sheet of iron at their back, concealing the wall behind. My heart gave a sudden leap; perhaps, after all, Fate had not been wholly unkind; at least I had another card left to play, and need not remain hopelessly staring about at those bare, solid walls. As a boy I had played about this building, invading every nook and corner. I could even recall when those shelves were first installed, and I had sat almost where I was sitting then, and watched the workmen bolt them into their present position. That seemed a long while ago—why, I could not have been more than eight or nine years of age. It was before my father bought the place out on the ridge, and we were living only a block down the street. This old courthouse was my favorite playground then, and I had explored every inch of it from cupola to wood cellar. I watched those workmen all one day, and the memory came back to me that those shelves rested against the big chimney, and there was an opening leading into it, across which they had nailed a tin protector before they fastened the iron to the wall.
If I could once get in behind that iron plate the way out would not be such a hard or difficult one to travel. The chimney was large; I recalled standing
