“Him?” Trottle wondered whether “him” meant a man, or a boy, or a domestic animal of the male species.  Whatever it meant, here was a chance of putting off that uncomfortable give-and-take-business, and, better still, a chance perhaps of finding out one of the secrets of the mysterious House.  Trottle’s spirits began to rise again and he said “Yes,” directly, with the confidence of a man who knew all about it.

Benjamin’s mother took the candle at once, and lighted Trottle briskly to the stairs; and Benjamin himself tried to follow as usual.  But getting up several flights of stairs, even helped by the bannisters, was more, with his particular complaint, than he seemed to feel himself inclined to venture on.  He sat down obstinately on the lowest step, with his head against the wall, and the tails of his big great-coat spreading out magnificently on the stairs behind him and above him, like a dirty imitation of a court lady’s train.

“Don’t sit there, dear,” says his affectionate mother, stopping to snuff the candle on the first landing.

“I shall sit here,” says Benjamin, agravating to the last, “till the milk comes in the morning.”

The cheerful old woman went on nimbly up the stairs to the first floor, and Trottle followed, with his eyes and ears wide open.  He had seen nothing out of the common in the front-parlour, or up the staircase, so far.  The House was dirty and dreary and close-smelling—­but there was nothing about it to excite the least curiosity, except the faint scraping sound, which was now beginning to get a little clearer—­though still not at all loud—­as Trottle followed his leader up the stairs to the second floor.

Nothing on the second-floor landing, but cobwebs above and bits of broken plaster below, cracked off from the ceiling.  Benjamin’s mother was not a bit out of breath, and looked all ready to go to the top of the monument if necessary.  The faint scraping sound had got a little clearer still; but Trottle was no nearer to guessing what it might be, than when he first heard it in the parlour downstairs.

On the third, and last, floor, there were two doors; one, which was shut, leading into the front garret; and one, which was ajar, leading into the back garret.  There was a loft in the ceiling above the landing; but the cobwebs all over it vouched sufficiently for its not having been opened for some little time.  The scraping noise, plainer than ever here, sounded on the other side of the back garret door; and, to Trottle’s great relief, that was precisely the door which the cheerful old woman now pushed open.

Trottle followed her in; and, for once in his life, at any rate, was struck dumb with amazement, at the sight which the inside of the room revealed to him.