."

"I don't know, mother," shouted Mr. Ashley successfully dodging a
bullet that came through a shutter. "Ask nevvy."

But Fairfax turned a look of consternation on his aunt.

"If there are no more cartridges in the pouch we are done for," he
said. "There's plenty of powder and ball, but I don't know where to
lay hand to wadding."

"Any sort of paper will do, Mary," interposed Nurse Johnson. "Get a
book."

Paper was a scarce commodity in those times, and few houses,
especially country houses, kept it in quantity. Books were rarer
still, so now Mrs. Ashley spoke with the calmness of despair:

"There isn't a book on the place. I let----"

"Wait a minute," cried Peggy. "I have one." She ran up the stairs as
she finished speaking and soon returned, a book in her hand.

"Oh, Peggy," wailed Sally, "'tis thy diary. And how will the girls
ever know what hath befallen us without it?"

"They are apt to know naught if we do not use it, Sally," said Peggy
with some excitement, proceeding to tear the leaves into squares.
Presently she paused, powder-horn in hand. "How much powder do I put
in, Friend Nurse?" she asked.

While Nurse Johnson was showing the proper amount the enemy's fire
slackened suddenly. Farmer Ashley and Fairfax exchanged apprehensive
glances. Were they weary, or was their stock of cartridges getting
low? Then the fire ceased altogether, and as the smoke lifted Fairfax
stole a look through the opening in a shutter. He turned a troubled
face toward them after a moment's survey.

"There's nothing to be seen," he said. "Surely they have not gone
away?"

At this juncture a call came from outside:

"Tom Ashley!"

"Well? What's wanted?" cried the farmer.

"We want that nephew of yours, and we're going to have him."

"Come and get him, then," growled Thomas Ashley.

"We're going to, Tom. We've burned your barn, and taken your horses.
Now unless you let us have that captain we'll burn the house right
over your head. Will you surrender Captain Johnson?"

"No," came from the farmer in a roar. "What manner of man do you think
I am that I'd let a pack of Tory scoundrels have my nephew?"

"The woods won't be pleasant camping for your women-folks at this time
of the year, Tom," came in threatening accents.

"No," shouted the farmer. "You can't have him."

"Uncle, I'd better go out to them," said Fairfax. "If they will
promise to let the rest of you alone, and not burn the house,
I'll----"

"You'll