“They must be sent away,” replied my father; “How long will it be before the British get here?” he continued.

“About two hours I should think,” was John’s reply; “and this being the first farmhouse they pass, they will probably stop here.”

“Statia,” said my father, turning to me, “it is my wish that you take your brothers and go as quickly as possible to your Uncle Ben’s, where you will be out of danger.  I must send you alone, my child, for I can spare no one to accompany you.  But it is not a dark night, and you are well acquainted with the road.  I see no other alternative.”

“I trembled in every limb, but I had been brought up with the greatest deference for my parents’ wishes, and should not have dared to dispute my father’s command, even had he told me to do a much harder thing.  The children began to cry, for they were afraid of being murdered on the road; but my mother succeeded in soothing them; and well bundled up, we received a kiss and blessing from our parents, and started on our dreary journey.  Here was I quite alone, except my two little brothers, who clung to me as we went along, and cried with terror, with three long miles before me, and the wind blowing around us with such fury that we could scarcely keep our feet.  My younger brother now complained of the cold; and resolved to protect them at whatever cost to myself, I took off my cloak and wrapped it about him.  I had only a shawl left; and wrapping my arms in its thin folds, while the children grasped my skirt, we proceeded slowly along.  It was fortunate for us that the moon shone brightly, for, even as it was, I was puzzled about the way.  But at length we reached the well-known house, and surprised enough were they to see us; but when we told them the reason, my uncle immediately started for my father’s house, to render any assistance that might be required.  The night passed, however, without the expected invasion; the British proceeded in another direction, and our cold, lonely walk might have been dispensed with.  But my father called me his brave little girl, and said that in future he could always trust me—­while my mother pressed us silently to her bosom, and as she kissed us, I felt the warm tears falling on my face.  She too had had her trial on that fearful night.”

I felt very thankful that my parents had never required such a disagreeable proof of obedience; for, not possessing the firm principle of right which characterized Cousin Statia, even as a child, I should have been very much disposed to resist their authority.

“Well,” said Aunt Henshaw, “that is a story of which Statia may well be proud, but her telling it has just put me in mind of something else.  I once had a large jar of sour milk standing before the fire, which I was going to make into cottage-cheese, when one of the servants came running, in breathless haste, with the news that three British soldiers were approaching the house.  Plunder was generally the