“Open the door, Jack, and let me in, and I will tell you all about it,” replied the absentee.

“Come in; the door isn’t locked,” said John.

He came in; and what he had to tell will interest the reader as well as his mother and his brother.

CHAPTER VII.

A midnight adventure.

Tom Somers was an enterprising young man, as our readers have already discovered; and when the door of the finished room in the attic of Squire Pemberton’s house was fastened upon him, he was not at all disposed to submit to the fate which appeared to be in store for him.  The idea of becoming a victim to the squire’s malice was not to be entertained, and he threw himself upon the bed to devise some means by which he might make his escape.

The prospect was not encouraging, for there was only one window in the chamber, and the distance to the ground was suggestive of broken limbs, if not of a broken neck.  Tom had read the Life of Baron Trenck, and of Stephen Burroughs, but the experience of neither of these worthies seemed to be available on the present occasion.

As the family had not yet retired, it would not be safe to commence operations for some hours.  The stale, commonplace method of tying the sheets and blankets together, and thus forming a rope by which he could descend to the ground, occurred to him; but he had not much confidence in the project.  He lay quietly on the bed till he heard the clocks on the churches at the Harbor strike twelve.  It was time then, if ever, for the family to be asleep, and he decided to attempt an escape by another means which had been suggested to him.  If it failed, he could then resort to the old-fashioned way of going down on the rope made of sheets and blankets.

The apartment in which Tom was confined was not what people in the country call an “upright chamber.”  The sides of the room were about four feet in height; and a section of the apartment would have formed one half of an irregular octagon.  In each side of the chamber there was a small door, opening into the space near the eaves of the house, which was used to store old trunks, old boxes, the disused spinning-wheel, and other lumber of this description.  Tom had been in the attic before, and he remembered these doors, through one of which he now proposed to make his escape.

When the clock struck twelve, he cautiously rose from the bed, and pulled off his boots, which a proper respect for his host or the bed had not prompted him to do before.  The house was old, and the floors had a tendency to creak beneath his tread.  With the utmost care, he crawled on his hands and knees to one of the doors of the lumber hole, which he succeeded in opening without much noise.