nd domestic in his solicitude to follow his wooden pattern, or
"pathron" as he called it, for the creature was Irish. He gave minute
and scrupulous directions to Peninnah Penelope Anne to sew the cylinder
with no more than twelve stitches to the inch, and to baste down the
seams, "now, moind ye that!--ivery wan!--that no powther might slip
through beyant!"

In the pride of the expert he was chary of commendation and eyed
critically the circular bottom of every bag before he filled it with
powder.

"See that, now," he said, snipping briskly with the scissors; "that
string of woolen yarn that yez left there, a-burnin' away outside, might
burst the whole gun, an' ivery sowl in the blockhouse would be kilt
intirely,--moind ye that, now!--an they would n't be the Frenchies,
nayther!" He gave her a keen warning glance at rather close range, then
once more renewed his labors.

The mockingbirds were singing in the woods outside. The sun was in the
trees. The leafage had progressed beyond the bourgeoning period and the
branches flung broad green splendors of verdure to the breeze. The Great
Smoky Mountains were hardly less blue than the sky as the distant
summits deployed against the fair horizon; only the nearest, close at
hand, were sombre, and showed dark luxuriant foliage and massive craggy
steeps, and their austere, silent, magnificent domes looked over the
scene with solemn uplifting meanings. Oh, life! life was so sweet, and
love and friendship were so easy to come by and so hard to part withal,
and glad, oh, glad was she that no men of the French nation or any other
were on their march hitherward to be torn in cruel lacerations by those
wicked cartridges, so cleverly and artfully and cheerfully
constructed,--men with homes, wives, mothers, sisters, children, every
soldier representing to some anxious, tender heart a whole world, a
microcosm of affection, all illuminated with hope and joy or to be
clouded with grief and terror and loss and despair,--oh, glad, glad was
she that the French invasion was but a figment,--a tissue of
misconceptions and vague innuendoes and groundless assumptions.

And yet she was sad and sorry and ashamed, because of the futile bustle
and bluster and cheerful courageous activity about her. Not a cheek had
blenched; not a hand had trembled; not a voice had been lifted to
protest or counsel surrender, despite their meagre capacities for
defense and their number, but a handful. What would thes