They went to the fuel-house.

It was a little stone erection that jutted out from the side of the wagon-house.

It was low and without a window, and the dried dung was piled in one corner, and the coffee-mill stood in another, fastened on the top of a short post about three feet high.

Bonaparte took the padlock off the rough door.
"Walk in, my lad," he said.
Waldo obeyed sullenly; one place to him was much the same as another.

He had no objection to being locked up.
Bonaparte followed him in, and closed the door carefully.