half severe enough to say, so
left it uncertain as to the punishment that might be looked for.

"Poor old soul!" ejaculated the little woman, her soft white curls in
disorder and the pink color rising from her cheeks to her fair
forehead, as she bent to help Joe drag the box beneath the rafter's
edge.

"Now, Joe," she said, "we'll heap nubbins over it, and if the soldiers
want corn they'll take good ears and never think of touching poor
nubbins." So they fell to work throwing corn over the red chest, until
it was completely concealed from view.

Then Joe sprang to the high-up-window ledge in the point of the roof
and took one glance out. "Oh, I see them, the Red Coats! 'Strue's I
live, there go our militia _up the hill_. I thought they was going to
stand and defend. Shame on 'em, I say!" Jumping down and crying back
to Mother Moulton, "I'm going to stand by the minute men," he went
down, three steps at a leap, and nearly overturned Uncle John on the
stairs, who, with many groans, was trying to get to the defense of his
strong box.

"What did you help her for, you scamp?" he demanded of Joe,
flourishing his staff unpleasantly near the lad's head.

"'Cause she asked me to, and couldn't do it alone," returned Joe,
dodging the stick and disappearing from the scene at the very moment
Martha Moulton encountered Uncle John.

"Your strong box is safe under nubbins in the garret, unless the house
burns down, and now that you are up here, you had better stay," she
added soothingly, as she hastened by him to reach the kitchen below.

Once there, she paused a second or two to take resolution regarding
her next act. She knew full well that there was not one second to
spare, and yet she stood looking, apparently, into the glowing embers
on the hearth. She was flushed and excited, both by the unwonted toil
and the coming events. Cobwebs from the rafters had fallen on her hair
and homespun dress, and would readily have betrayed her late
occupation to any discerning soldier of the king.

A smile broke suddenly over her fair face, displacing for a brief
second every trace of care. "It's my old weapon, and I must use it,"
she said, making a stately courtesy to an imaginary guest, and
straightway disappeared within an adjoining room. With buttoned door
and dropped curtains the little woman made haste to array herself in
her finest raiment. In five minutes she reappeared in the kitchen, a
picture pleasant to look at. In all New E