r instant a
full realization of the cause of this feeling darted into his mind, and
with a pitiful cry of terror he bounded into the air like a frightened
deer. And to add to the horror of his situation, in descending his right
foot came down squarely upon one of the rats, which emitted a strange
cry, a sort of squeal, that sent a thrill throughout every nerve of our
hero's body.

A second leap brought him standing upon the bench upon which he had been
sitting.

If ever a boy had good reason to be frightened, it was Herbert Randolph.
His situation was one to drive men mad--in that dark, damp cellar,
thus surrounded and beset by this countless horde of rats. The cold
perspiration stood out upon him, and he trembled with an uncontrollable
fear.

Something was wrong with his feet. He knew that, for his shoes now
barely hung upon them. To what extent the rats had gone he dreaded
to know. Already he could feel his feet smart and burn in a peculiar
manner. Had they received poisonous bites, he asked himself? The mere
suggestion of such a condition to one in his frightened state of mind
was quite as bad, for the time, as actual wounds would have been.

A rat isn't very good company at any time. Under the most favorable
conditions his presence has a tendency to send people upon chairs or
the nearest table, and not infrequently they do this little act with
a whoop that would do credit to a genuine frontier Indian. When,
therefore, we consider this fact, it is not difficult to realize the
alarming situation in which our young hero was, and but for the timely
sound of footsteps overhead it is impossible to predict what might have
been the result of this terrible mental strain on him.

[Illustration: SUDDENLY REALIZING HIS HORRIBLE SITUATION, HERBERT SPRANG
UPON THE BENCH WITH A PITIFUL CRY OF TERROR.]

The night had worn away, the old fence was again on the move, and
Herbert's piercing cry brought him to the room over the cell. No sooner
had our young friend heard this sound above his head than he appealed
for help. So alarming were his cries that even old Gunwagner was at
length moved to go to his assistance. He retraced his steps to the front
of the house, and, taking a lighted lamp with him, passed down through
the trap door, and then made his way into the rear cellar to Herbert's
cell.

Never before in his life had the presence of a human being been so
welcome as was that of Gunwagner to our frightened hero. What a re