It was rather a cold day in the month of March, when “Cousin Charley,” as we called Mr. Miller, was superintending some men who were laying a plank walk in the rear of his premises.  Some half dozen of us were invited to an early tea at good Deacon Huntington’s.  Immediately after dinner, Miss Fitzhugh and Miss Van Schaack decided to take a nap, that they might appear as brilliant as possible during the evening.  That they might not be late, as they invariably were, Cousin Lizzie and I decided to rouse them in good season with a generous sprinkling of cold water.  In vain they struggled to keep the blankets around them; with equal force we pulled them away, and, whenever a stray finger or toe appeared, we brought fresh batteries to bear, until they saw that passive resistance must give place to active hostility.  We were armed with two watering pots.  They armed themselves with two large-sized syringes used for showering potato bugs.  With these weapons they gave us chase downstairs.  We ran into a closet and held the door shut.  They quietly waited our forthcoming.  As soon as we opened the door to peep out, Miss Fitzhugh, who was large and strong, pulled it wide open and showered us with a vengeance.  Then they fled into a large pantry where stood several pans of milk.

At this stage Cousin Charley, hearing the rumpus, came to our assistance.  He locked them in the pantry and returned to his work, whereupon they opened the window and showered him with milk, while he, in turn, pelted them with wet clothes, soaking in tubs near by.  As they were thinly clad, wet to the skin, and the cold March wind blew round them (we were all in fatigue costume in starting) they implored us to let them out, which we did, and, in return for our kindness, they gave us a broadside of milk in our faces.  Cousin Lizzie and I fled to the dark closet, where they locked us in.  After long, weary waiting they came to offer us terms of capitulation.  Lizzie agreed to fill their guns with milk, and give them our watering pots full of water, and I agreed to call Cousin Charley under my window until they emptied the contents of guns and pots on his head.  My room was on the first floor, and Miss Fitzhugh’s immediately overhead.  On these terms we accepted our freedom.  Accordingly, I gently raised the window and called Charley confidentially within whispering distance, when down came a shower of water.  As he stepped back to look up and see whence it came, and who made the attack, a stream of milk hit him on the forehead, his heels struck a plank, and he fell backward, to all appearance knocked down with a stream of milk.  His humiliation was received with shouts of derisive laughter, and even the carpenters at work laid down their hammers and joined in the chorus; but his revenge was swift and capped the climax.  Cold and wet as we all were, and completely tired out, we commenced to disrobe and get ready for the tea party.  Unfortunately I had forgotten to lock