th
children in their arms, and others raising their hands to heaven,
calling aloud for help; whilst a few, bolder than the rest, leaned out
of the windows, and tried to fasten the outside blinds.

"There come the ants out of their holes!" cried Ciboule, stooping to
pick up a stone. "We must have a fling at them for luck!" The stone,
hurled by the steady, masculine hand of the virago, went straight to its
mark, and struck an unfortunate woman who was trying to close one of the
shutters.

"Hit in the white!" cried the hideous creature.

"Well done, Ciboule!--you've rapped her coker-nut!" cried a voice.

"Ciboule forever!"

"Come out, you Devourers, if you dare!"

"They have said a hundred times, that the neighbors were too cowardly
even to come and look at their house," squealed the little man with the
ferret's face.

"And now they show the white feather!"

"If they will not come out," cried the quarryman, in voice of thunder,
"let us smoke them out!"

"Yes, yes!"

"Let's break open the door!"

"We are sure to find them!"

"Come on! come on!"

The crowd, with the quarryman at their head, and Ciboule not far from
him, brandishing a stick, advanced tumultously towards one of the great
doors. The ground shook beneath the rapid tread of the mob, which had
now ceased shouting; but the confused, and, as it were, subterraneous
noise, sounded even more ominous than those savage outcries. The Wolves
soon arrived opposite the massive oaken door. At the moment the blaster
raised a sledgehammer, the door opened suddenly. Some of the most
determined of the assailants were about to rush in at this entrance; but
the quarryman stepped back, extending his arm as if to moderate their
ardor and impose silence. Then his followers gathered round him.

The half-open door discovered a party of workmen, unfortunately by no
means numerous, but with countenances full of resolution. They had armed
themselves hastily with forks, iron bars, and clubs. Agricola, who was
their leader, held in his hand a heavy sledge-hammer. The young workman
was very pale; but the fire of his eye, his menacing look, and the
intrepid assurance of his bearing, showed that his father's blood
boiled in his veins, and that in such a struggle he might become
fear-inspiring. Yet he succeeded in restraining himself, and challenged
the quarryman, in a firm voice: "What do you want?"

"A fight!" thundered the blaster.

"Yes, yes! a fight!" repeated the crow