the sergeant, thoughtfully; "there is
woods just on this side of it."

"That's true," replied the dame: "but what is it you are thinking
about, Mr. Robinson?"

"How long before this rain began was it that they quitted this house?"

"Not above fifteen minutes."

"Mistress Ramsay, bring me the rifle and pistol both--and the
powder-horn and bullets."

"As you say, Mr. Horse Shoe," answered the dame, as she turned round to
leave the room; "but I am sure I can't suspicion what you mean to do."

In a few moments the woman returned with the weapons, and gave them to
the sergeant.

"Where is Andy?" asked Horse Shoe.

The hostess went to the door and called her son, and, almost immediately
afterwards, a sturdy boy of about twelve or fourteen years of age
entered the apartment, his clothes dripping with rain. He modestly and
shyly seated himself on a chair near the door, with his soaked hat
flapping down over a face full of freckles, and not less rife with the
expression of an open, dauntless hardihood of character.

"How would you like a scrummage, Andy, with them Scotchmen that stole
your mother's chickens this morning?" asked Horse Shoe.

"I'm agreed," replied the boy, "if you will tell me what to do."

"You are not going to take the boy out on any of your desperate
projects, Mr. Horse Shoe?" said the mother, with the tears starting
instantly into her eyes. "You wouldn't take such a child as that into
danger?"

"Bless your soul, Mrs. Ramsay, there ar'n't no danger about it! Don't
take on so. It's a thing that is either done at a blow, or not
done,--and there's an end of it. I want the lad only to bring home the
prisoners for me, after I have took them."

"Ah, Mr. Robinson, I have one son already in these wars--God protect
him!--and you men don't know how a mother's heart yearns for her
children in these times. I cannot give another," she added, as she threw
her arms over the shoulders of the youth and drew him to her bosom.

"Oh! it aint nothing," said Andrew, in a sprightly tone. "It's only
snapping of a pistol, mother,--pooh! If I'm not afraid, you oughtn't to
be."

"I give you my honor, Mistress Ramsay," said Robinson, "that I will
bring or send your son safe back in one hour; and that he sha'n't be put
in any sort of danger whatsomedever: come, that's a good woman!"

"You are not deceiving me, Mr. Robinson?" asked the matron wiping away a
tear. "You wouldn't mock the sufferings of a weak woman in such a