nately into her
father's face, rejoicing to perceive that a quiet smile was on his lips.
But suddenly a shade came across her countenance. She seemed to listen
attentively, as if to catch a distant sound.

"What is the matter, my child?" inquired Hutchinson.

"Father, do not you hear a tumult in the streets?" said she.

The lieutenant-governor listened. But his ears were duller than those
of his daughter; he could hear nothing more terrible than the sound of a
summer breeze, sighing among the tops of the elm-trees.

"No, foolish child!" he replied, playfully patting her cheek. "There is
no tumult. Our Boston mobs are satisfied with what mischief they have
already done. The king's friends need not tremble."

So Hutchinson resumed his pleasant and peaceful meditations, and again
forgot that there were any troubles in the world. But his family were
alarmed, and could not help straining their ears to catch the slightest
sound. More and more distinctly they heard shouts, and then the
trampling of many feet. While they were listening, one of the neighbors
rushed breathless into the room.

"A mob! a terrible mob'!" cried he. "They have broken into Mr. Storey's
house, and into Mr. Hallo-well's, and have made themselves drunk with
the liquors in his cellar; and now they are coming hither, as wild as so
many tigers. Flee, lieutenant-governor, for your life! for your life!"

"Father, dear father, make haste!" shrieked his children.

But Hutchinson would not hearken to them. He was an old lawyer; and he
could not realize that the people would do anything so utterly lawless
as to assault him in his peaceful home. He was one of King George's
chief officers and it would be an insult and outrage upon the king
himself if the lieutenant-governor should suffer any wrong.

"Have no fears on my account," said he, "I am perfectly safe. The king's
name shall be my protection."

Yet he bade his family retire into one of the neighboring houses. His
daughter would have remained; but he forced her away.

The huzzas and riotous uproar of the mob were now heard, close at hand.
The sound was terrible, and struck Hutchinson with the same sort of
dread as if an enraged wild beast had broken loose and were roaring
for its prey. He crept softly to the window. There he beheld an immense
concourse of people, filling all the street and rolling onward to his
house. It was like a tempestuous flood, that had swelled beyond its
bounds and would swe