hispered Peggy, her voice filled with the horror of the scenes
she had witnessed.

"Because, because," sobbed Sally, "there must be wounded. Oh, the
poor, poor fellows!"

Peggy made a violent effort to collect herself.

"Yes," she said. "Thee is right, Sally. We must go back."

Soon they regained a degree of composure, and then they turned back.
When again they came into the village, or rather the place where the
village had been, the enemy had gone, but the destruction was
complete. Not a dwelling stood, the salt works, the grist-mills, the
lumber mills, even the little boats of the fishermen had been
destroyed. Of that busy, lively, little town not a vestige remained.
Shudderingly but with the resolution to be of service, if service
should be necessary, the two girls made their way to the spot where
the blockhouse had stood. As they drew near they saw the form of a
woman moving among the bodies of the dead. She limped slightly, and
they knew it was Nurse Johnson.

"Friend Nurse! Oh, Friend Nurse!" cried the girls running to her.

"He is not here," said Nurse Johnson apathetically. "They carried
away some prisoners; he must be among them."

"Then he can be exchanged," cried Peggy, a gleam of joy irradiating
her countenance. "Oh, I'm glad, glad!"

Nurse Johnson smiled wanly.

"I shall know no peace until I find where he is," she said. "I am glad
that you are safe. Why came ye back from the woods? The British have
just gone."

"The wounded," cried the maidens together. "We must care for them."

"Only the dead lie here," she told them with terrible composure. "Did
ye not hear the order to spare none? There was no quarter given after
the surrender. 'Tis that which makes me fearful for my son."

With that she sat down upon the bank of the river, and bowed her head
upon her hands. One by one the women stole back from the forest. Each
went first to those still forms lying so quietly, searching for
father, husband, son or brother among them; then silently sat down
among the ashes, and bowed her head. The little children stifled the
sobs that rose in their throats, awed by this voiceless grief, and
crept softly to the sides of their mothers, hiding their faces
against them. More than a hundred women and children were stripped of
everything, and rendered homeless, widowed and orphaned by the attack.

As though unable to bear the sight of such sorrow, the sun hid his
face behind a cloud, and the forest lay in shad