Great flames were now leaping high as the timber-tops at the edge of the clearing.  A dead spruce caught fire as we were looking.  The flames threw over it a lacy, shimmering, crackling net of gold.  Then suddenly it burst into a red, leaping tower.  A few moments, and the cavern of the woods, along the timber side, was choked with fire.  The little hamlet had become a spring of light in the darkness.  We could see the stumps and houses far afield, as if it had been noonday.  Suddenly we all jumped to our feet.  A wild yell came echoing through the woods.

“There they be!” said Asher Eastman, as he cocked his gun.  “I tol’ ye so.”

As a matter of fact, he had told us nothing of the kind.  He was the one man who had said nothing.

Arv Law stood erect, his pike-pole poised in both hands, and we were all ready for action.  We could hear the rattle of many hoofs on the road.  As soon as the column showed in the firelight, Bill Foster up with his musket and pulled the trigger.  I could hear the shot scatter on stump and stone.  Every man had his gun to his eye.

“Wait till they come nearer,” said Asher Eastman.

The Indians had halted.  Far behind them we could hear the wild hallooing of many voices.  In a moment we could see those on horseback go galloping off in the direction whence they had come.  Back in the house a number of the women were praying.  My mother came out, her face whiter than I had ever seen it before, and walked to my father, and kissed him without ever saying a word.  Then she went back into the house.

“Scairt?” I inquired, turning to Rose, who now stood beside me.

“I should think I was,” she whispered.  “I ’m all of a tremble.”

“If anything happens, I ’d like something to remember you by.”

“What?” she whispered.

I looked at her beautiful red lips.  She had never let me kiss them.

“A kiss, if nothing more,” I answered.

She gave me a kiss then that told me something of what was in her heart, and went away into the house.

“Goin’ t’ surround us,” said Arv Law—­“thet ’s whut ‘s th’ matter.”

“Mus’ be ready t’ rassle ’em any minute,” said Asher Eastman, as he sidled over to a little group.

A young man came out of the house and took his place in line with a big squirt-gun and a pail of steaming-hot water.

The night wore on; our fires burned low.  As the approaching day began to light the clearing, we heard a sound that brought us all to our feet.  A burst of bugle notes went chasing over the timber-land to the tune of “Yankee Doodle.”  We looked at one another in surprise.  Then there came a thunder of hoofs in the distance, the ragged outline of a troop of cavalry.

“Soldiers!” said Arv, as he raised his pike.

“The British?” somebody asked.

“Dunno,” said he.  “Ain’ no Injuns, I don’t b’lieve.”