up the river in their canoes, towards our little village.  He watched their movements as narrowly as possible, but was careful not to let them see or hear him.  When they got within about half a mile of the settlement, they pulled their canoes ashore, and concealed them among the bushes.  They meant to creep along very slowly and slily, the rest of the way, and then fall suddenly upon the whites, and murder and plunder them before they could know what the matter was.  But the man who discovered them hurried on to the settlement, and gave the alarm.  Ten men was all he could muster, for there were but a few families in the town.  These men armed themselves, and by the time they were ready for action, the Indians had already begun their work of plunder.

“But the Indians were not cunning enough for the white folks, that time.  The settlers formed themselves into two parties—­one of seven and one of three men.  The three men went down very cautiously to the Indian’s landing-place, and after cutting slits in their bark canoes, they hid themselves, and awaited the result.  While they were doing this, the other party made such a furious and sudden attack upon the enemy, that the Indians thought they were assailed by a force far superior to their own, and so they fled as fast as they could.  When they reached the landing-place, they jumped pell-mell into their canoes, and pushed out into the stream.  Now they thought they would soon be out of the reach of harm; but, to their astonishment, the canoes began to fill with water, and were entirely unmanageable.  The three men in ambush now began to attack them, and pretty soon the other seven came to their aid, and in a little while the Indians were all shot or drowned, and not one of the party escaped, to inform their kindred what had befallen them.  The stream on which this happened is called Laplot River.  Laplot, they say, means ‘the plot,’ and a good many people think the river got its name from the stratagem of the settlers, but I don’t know how that is.”

After musing awhile in silence, Ralph called for another story.

“Let me see,” said his grandmother; “did I ever tell you about Widow Storey’s retreat, in the Revolution!”

“No ma’am,” said Oscar; “I’ve read about General Burgoyne’s retreat; but I never heard of Widow Storey before:  who was she?”

“O, it was n’t that kind of a retreat that I meant,” said his grandmother; “but I will tell you who she was.  She lived in Salisbury, some twenty or thirty miles from where I belong.  Her husband was the first man who settled in Salisbury, but he was very unfortunate.  After he had worked hard, and got a log cabin ready for his family, it took fire, and was destroyed; and he himself was killed by the fall of a tree, soon after.  But his widow was a very smart woman; and though she had eight or ten small children, she moved on to the place her husband had selected; and the proprietors of the township gave