of glass in an opposite window, fell into the yard. A dreadful
scream arose from the servants, and perhaps frightened for the effects,
or perceiving my husband and the men, they made a hasty retreat; and I
was just ready to sink from fright when Mr. Henshaw came in. He told me
never to stop up the bullet-hole, but to leave it to show what women
were made of in the Revolution.

CHAPTER XIV.

Cousin Statia had completed her winter's knitting, Aunt Henshaw began to
make pumpkin pies, and the period of my visit was rapidly drawing to a
close. The letters from home grew more and more solicitous for my
return, and at last the day was fixed. I felt anxious to see them all
again, and yet rather sorry to lay aside my present state of freedom. I
had quite escaped from leading-strings, and found it very pleasant to
follow the bent of my inclination as I had done at Aunt Henshaw's; but
absence had banished all memory of the thorns I had sometimes
encountered in my career at home, and I thought only of the roses--the
idea of change being also a great inducement.

Holly and I had passed whole afternoons in gathering hazel-nuts which
grew near a fence not far from the house; and having filled a very
respectable-sized bag with them, I felt quite impatient at the idea of
returning home well-laden with supplies, like any prudent housekeeper.
Aunt Henshaw was to accompany me, and selecting some of her choicest
produce, and an immense bunch of herbs, as antidotes for all the aches
and ills which human flesh is heir to, on a bright, glowing September
morning, we set forward on my homeward journey. "Blessings brighten as
they leave us;" and although I had been considered the torment of the
whole household, all regretted my departure, and begged me to come soon
again.

"Now, Miss Amy," said Sylvia, as I was taking a long private farewell in
the kitchen, "jest take a piece of advice from an old colored woman what
has lived longer in the world than you have, and roasted chickens and
fried sassages ever sense she can remember. Buckwheat cakes is very
good, but to keep your own counsel is a heap better--so when you go home
don't you go to telling about that ere pig-pen business, or the time
when the old hen flewed at you, or tumbling off the old horse. People
that don't say nothin' often gits credit for bein' quite sensible, and
p'raps you can deceive 'em too; for you'll be kind o' made a fuss with
when you fust get home, and if you don