t when it showed signs of stopping. There was a settle
at right angles with the fireplace, and here the little cooks sat,
Dorothy in the corner nearest the fire, and Arthur curled up on the
floor at her feet, where he could look up the chimney and see the
moon, almost at the full, drifting through the sky. At the opposite
corner sat Abram, the hired man and faithful keeper of the family in
the absence of its head, at work on an axe helve, while Bathsheba, or
"Basha," as she was briefly and affectionately called, was spinning in
one corner of the room just within range of the firelight.

There was no other light--the firelight being sufficient for their
needs--and it was necessary to economize in candles, for any day a
raid from the royal army might take away both cattle and sheep,
and then where would the tallow come from for the annual fall
candle-making? There was a rumor--Abram had brought it home that very
day--that the royal army were advancing, and red coats might make
their appearance in Hartland at any time. Arthur and Dorothy were
talking about it, as they turned the roasting fork.

"Wish I was a man," said Arthur, glancing towards his mother, who was
sitting in a low splint chair knitting stockings for her boy's winter
wear. "I'd like to shoot a red coat."

"O Arty!" exclaimed Dorothy reproachfully; "you're always thinking of
shooting! Now _I_ should like to nurse a sick soldier and wait upon
him. Poor soldiers! it was dreadful what papa wrote to mamma about
them."

"Would you nurse a red coat?" asked Arthur, indignantly.

"Yes," said Dorothy. "Though of course I should rather, a great deal
rather, nurse one of our own soldiers. But, Arty," continued the
little elder sister, "papa says if we must fight, why, we must fight
bravely, but that we can be brave without fighting."

"Well, I mean to be a hero, and heroes always fight. King Arthur
fought. Papa said so. He and his knights fought for the Sangreal,
and liberty is our Sangreal. I'm glad my name is Arthur, anyhow, for
Arthur means noble and high," he said, lifting his bright boyish face
with its steadfast blue eyes, and glancing again towards his mother.
She gave an answering smile.

"I hope my boy will always be noble and high in thought and deed. But,
as papa said, to be a hero one does not need to fight, at least, not
to fight men. We can fight bad tempers and bad thoughts and cowardly
impulses. They who fight these things successfully are the tr