tinguishable standards. Puffs of smoke broke from the windows of
the mill.

"Aye!" said Goodman Blane. "I would not be in Miller Luck's shoes just
now. I wonder where he is, poor rogue. Which side have got his mill,
think you, Master Brown?"

"The round-headed rascals for certain," said Master Brown, "and the
bridge too, trying to hinder the King's men from crossing bag and
baggage to relieve the town."

"See, there's a party drawing together. Is it to force the bridge?"

"Aye, aye, and there's another troop galloping up stream. Be they
running off, the cowards?"

"Not they. Depend on it some of our folks have told them of Colham ford.
Heaven be with them, brave lads."

"Most like Sir George is there, I don't see 'em."

"No, of course not, stupid, they'll be taking Colham Lane. See, see,
there's a lot of 'em drawn up to force the bridge. Good luck be with
them."

More puffs of smoke from the mill, larger ones from the bank, and a
rattle and roll came up to the watchers. There was a moment's shock and
pause in the assault, then a rush forward, and the distant sound of a
cheer, which those on the hill could not help repeating. But from the
red coats on and behind the bridge, proceeded a perfect cloud of smoke,
which hid everything, and when it began to clear away on the wind, there
seemed to be a hand-to-hand struggle going on upon the bridge, smaller
puffs, as though pistols were being used, and forms falling over
the parapet, at which sight the men held their breath, and the women
shrieked and cried "God have mercy on their poor souls." And then the
dark-coated troops seemed to be driven back.

"That was a feint, only a feint," cried Master Brown. "See there!"

For the plumed troop of horsemen had indeed crossed, and came galloping
down the bank with such a jingling and clattering, and thundering of
hoofs as came up to the harvest men above, and Master Brown led the
cheer as they charged upon the compact mass of red coats behind the
bridge, and broke and rode them down by the vehemence of the shock.

"Hurrah!" cried Blane. "Surely they will turn now and take the fellows
on the bridge in the rear. No. Ha! they are hunting them down on to
their baggage! Well done, brave fellows, hip! hip!--"

But the hurrah died on his lips as a deep low hum--a Psalm tune sung by
hundreds of manly voices--ascended to his ears, to the accompaniment
of the heavy thud of horsehoofs, and from the London Road, between
the bridge