A moment of suspense, of apparent hesitation on the part of the raiders, then in stentorian tones the leader, stepping back a little, called; “Edward Travilla!”

No answer.

An instant of dead silence; then the call was repeated.

Elsie shuddered and hid her face, faltering out a prayer for her husband’s safety.

Still no reply, and the third time the man called, adding, with a volley of oaths and curses, “We want you, sir:  come out at once or it’ll be the worse for you.”

Then Mr. Dinsmore answered in calm, firm tones, “Your purpose is known; your demand is unreasonable and lawless, and will not be complied with; withdraw your men at once or it will be the worse for you.”

“Boys!” cried the leader, turning to his men, “up with your axes and clubs, we’ve got to batter down this breastwork, and it must be done!”

With a yell of fury the hideous forms rushed forward to the attack.

“Fire!” rang out Mr. Dinsmore’s voice in clarion tones, and instantly the crack of half a dozen revolvers was heard, a light blaze ran along the line of loopholes, and at the same instant a sudden, scalding shower fell upon the assailants from above.

Several of them dropped upon the ground and as many more threw away their clubs, and ran screaming and swearing down the avenue.

But the others rallied and came on again yelling with redoubled fury; while simultaneously similar sounds came from the sides and rear of the dwelling.

The scalding shower was descending there, also; Uncle Joe and his command were busy, and bullets were flying and doing some execution, though sent with less certain aim than from the front.

Aunt Dicey, too, and her satellites were winning the laurels they coveted.

As she had expected, several of the assailants came thundering at her door, loudly demanding admittance, at the same time that the attack was made in front.

“Who dar?  What you want?” she called.

“We want in; open the door instantly!”

“No, sah! dis chile don’ do no sich ting!  Dis Marse Ed’ard’s kitchen, an’ Miss Elsie’s.”

Then in an undertone, “Now Venus an’ Lize, fill yo’ dippahs quick! an’ when dis niggah says fire, slam de contentions—­dat’s de bilin’ soap, min’—­right into dar ugly faces.”

“An’ Sally Ann, yo’ creep up dem stairs, quick as lightnin’ an’ hide under the bed.  It’s yo’ dey’s after; somebody mus’ a tole ’em yo’ sleeps yere sense de night dat bloody hand ben laid on yo’ shouldah.”

These orders were scarcely issued and obeyed when the door fell in with a loud crash, and a hideous horned head appeared in the opening; but only to receive three ladles-full of the boiling soap full in its face, and fall back with a terrible, unearthly yell of agony and rage, into the arms of its companions, who quickly bore it shrieking away.

“Tank de Lord, dat shot tole!” ejaculated Aunt Dicey.  “Now stan’ ready for de nex’.”