His faith was undoubtedly rewarded; but Providence in the execution of its will loves to use vigilant human eyes and ready, loving hands.  The guardian angel destined to protect the good man was his blooming daughter Phebe, who had never thought of herself as an angel, and indeed rarely thought of herself at all, as is usually the case with those who do most to sweeten and brighten the world.  She was a natural, wholesome, human child, with all a child’s unconsciousness of self.  She knew she could not protect her father like a great stalwart son, but she could watch and warn him of danger, and as the sequel proved, she could do far more.

The farmer’s habits were well known, and the ruffians of the mountains were aware that after he had shut himself in he was much like Noah in his ark.  If they attempted to burn him out, the flames would bring down upon them a score of neighbors not hampered by Quaker principles.  Therefore they resolved upon a sudden onslaught before he had finished the evening labors of the farm.  This was what the farmer feared; and Phebe, like a vigilant outpost, was now never absent from her place of observation until called in.

One spring evening she saw two mounted men descending one of the roads which led from the mountains.  Instead of jogging quietly out on the highway, as ordinary travellers would have done, they disappeared among the trees.  Soon afterward she caught a glimpse of two other horsemen on the second mountain road.  One of these soon came into full view, and looked up and down as if to see that all was clear.  Apparently satisfied, he gave a low whistle, when three men joined him.  Phebe waited to see no more, but sped toward the house, her flaxen curls flying from her flushed and excited face.

“They are coming, father!  Thee must be quick!” she cried.

But a moment or two elapsed before all were within the dwelling, the doors banged and barred, the heavy shutters closed, and the home-fortress made secure.  Phebe’s warning had come none too soon, for they had scarcely time to take breath before the tramp of galloping horses and the oaths of their baffled foes were heard without.  The marauders did not dare make much noise, for fear that some passing neighbor might give the alarm.  Tying their horses behind the house, where they would be hidden from the road, they tried various expedients to gain an entrance, but the logs and heavy planks baffled them.  At last one of the number suggested that they should ascend the roof and climb down the wide flue of the chimney.  This plan was easy of execution, and for a few moments the stout farmer thought that his hour had come.  With a heroism far beyond that of the man who strikes down his assailant, he prepared to suffer all things rather than take life with his own hands.