to whom such an occasion as this would naturally appeal.
Satisfied by my scrutiny, I explored the opposite wall in vain for any similar opening. As I remembered there were offices there, where in days of peace the county officers held sway, and the floor above was an unfurnished attic, extending the full length of the building, having a low, unceiled roof. In the old days it had been used for storage purposes, and there was a narrow stairway leading down into the sheriff's office. Ay! and there was a contrivance there once in which they used to burn waste papers. I remembered a certain house-cleaning in which I assisted, and was assigned to the job of stirring the papers frequently with an iron poker. I thought it fun, and the chimney funnel was a big one. Possibly it was there still, but could I succeed in getting up that far? The light shining through the broken paper permitted a faint glimpse of my immediate surroundings, yet revealed little to encourage such an attempt. The chimney was barely large enough to admit the upward passage of my body, and was a black mystery. However, the irregularity of the stones promised finger and foot-hold, and if the opening retained the same formation to the top, I might be able to squeeze through without serious accident. At any rate the effort must be made—to retreat, or even to
