the time to have the
front door divided into two parts, the lower half and the upper half.
The former was closed and made fast, the upper could be swung open at
will.

The soldier getting no reply, and doubtless thinking that the house
was deserted, leaped over the chained lower half of the door.

At the clang of his bayonet against the brass trimmings, Martha
Moulton groaned in spirit, for, if there was any one thing that she
deemed essential to her comfort in this life, it was to keep spotless,
speckless and in every way unharmed, the great knocker on her front
door.

"Good, sound English metal, too," she thought, "that an English
soldier ought to know how to respect."

As she heard the tramp of coming feet she only bent the closer over
the Book of Prayer that lay open on her knee. Not one word did she
read or see; she was inwardly trembling and outwardly watching the
well and the staircase. But now, above all other sounds, broke the
noise of Uncle John's staff thrashing the upper step of the staircase,
and the shrill, tremulous cry of the old man, defiant, doing his
utmost for the defense of his castle.

The fingers that lay beneath the book tingled with desire to box the
old man's ears, for the policy he was pursuing would be fatal to the
treasure in garret and in well; but she was forced to silence and
inactivity.

As the king's troops, Major Pitcairn at their head, reached the open
door and saw the old lady, they paused. What could they do but look,
for a moment, at the unexpected sight that met their view: a placid
old lady in black silk and dotted muslin, with all the sweet solemnity
of morning devotion hovering about the tidy apartment and seeming to
centre at the round stand by which she sat,--this pretty woman, with
pink and white face surmounted with fleecy little curls and crinkles
and wisps of floating whiteness, who looked up to meet their gaze with
such innocent, prayer-suffused eyes.

"Good morning, Mother," said Major Pitcairn, raising his hat.

"Good morning, gentlemen and soldiers," returned Martha Moulton. "You
will pardon my not meeting you at the door, when you see that I was
occupied in rendering service to the Lord of all." She reverently
closed the book, laid it on the table, and arose, with a stately
bearing, to demand their wishes.

"We're hungry, good woman," spoke the commander, "and your hearth is
the only hospitable one we've seen since we left Boston. With your
good leave I'