arvest; even the children staggered
off to the threshing-barns, laden with sheaves of red-stemmed
buckwheat, or rolled pumpkins and squashes to the wagons, or shook down
crimson apples for the men to cart away and bury.

The little Norris boy labored with the others--a thin, sallow child,
heavy-eyed and silent. He had recovered somewhat from the shock of the
tragedy he had witnessed, and strove to do what was asked of him, but
when spoken to, seemed confused and slow of comprehension; and the
tears were ever starting or smeared over his freckled face from cheek
to chin.

Being an officer, the poor, heavy-witted folk looked to me for the
counsel and wisdom my inexperience lacked. All I could do for them was
to arrange their retreat to the tavern at the first signal of danger,
and to urge that the women and children sleep there at night. My advice
was only partly followed. As the golden October days passed, with no
fresh alarm from the Sacandaga, their apathetic fatalism turned to a
timid confidence that their homes and lands might yet be spared.

Wemple sold his buckwheat on promise of pay in paper dollars, and we
milled it and barreled it, and made a deposit in Klein's sugar-bush.

Distant neighbors came a-horseback to the mill with news from
neighbors, still more distant, that Sir John had retreated northward
from the Sacandaga, toward Edward; that the Tories threatened Ballston;
that Indians had been seen near Galway; that the garrison at
Schenectady had been warned to take the field against St. Leger; that
on Champlain General Haldimand had gathered a great fleet, and his
maneuvers were a mystery to the scouts watching him. But no rumors were
carried to us concerning Ross and Butler, except that strange vessels
had been seen leaving Bucks Island.

The tension, the wearing anxiety, and harrowing chagrin that I had been
left here forgotten, waxed to a fever that drove me all day restlessly
from field to field, from house to barn, and back to the tavern, to sit
watching the road for sign of a messenger to set me free of this
dreary, hopeless place.

And on one bright, cold morning in late October, when to keep warm one
must seek the sunny lee of the tavern, I sat brooding, watching the
crimson maple-leaves falling from the forest in showers. Frost had
come, silvering the stiffened earth, and patches of it still lingered
in shady places. Oaks were brown, elms yellow; birches had shed their
leaves; and already the