ll take a bit of this," and he stooped to lift up the
Johnny-cake that had been all this while on the hearth.

"I wish I had something better to offer you," she said, making haste
to fetch plates and knives from the corner-cupboard, and all the while
she was keeping eye-guard over the well. "I'm afraid the Concorders
haven't left much for you to-day," she added, with a soft sigh of
regret, as though she really felt sorry that such brave men and good
soldiers had fallen on hard times in the ancient town. At the moment
she had brought forth bread and baked beans, and was putting them on
the table, a voice rang into the room, causing every eye to turn
toward Uncle John. He had gotten down the stairs without uttering one
audible groan, and was standing, one step above the floor of the room,
brandishing and whirling his staff about in a manner to cause even
rheumatism to flee the place, while at the top of his voice he cried
out:

"Martha Moulton, how _dare_ you _feed_ these--these--monsters--in
human form?"

"Don't mind him, gentlemen, _please_ don't," she made haste to say;
"he's old, _very_ old; eighty-five, his last birthday, and--a little
hoity-toity at times," pointing deftly with her finger in the region
of the reasoning powers in her own shapely head.

Summoning Major Pitcairn by an offer of a dish of beans, she contrived
to say, under cover of it:

"You see, sir, I couldn't go away and leave him; he is almost
distracted with rheumatism, and this excitement to-day will kill him,
I'm afraid."

Advancing toward the staircase with bold and soldierly front, Major
Pitcairn said to Uncle John:

"Stand aside, old man, and we'll hold you harmless."

"I don't believe you will, you red-trimmed trooper, you," was the
reply; and, with a dexterous swing of the wooden staff, he mowed off
and down three military hats.

Before any one had time to speak, Martha Moulton, adroitly stooping,
as though to recover Major Pitcairn's hat, which had rolled to her
feet, swung the stairway-door into its place with a resounding bang,
and followed up that achievement with a swift turn of two large wooden
buttons, one high up, and the other low down, on the door.

"There!" she said, "he is safe out of mischief for a while, and your
heads are safe as well. Pardon a poor old man, who does not know what
he is about."

"He seems to know remarkably well," exclaimed an officer.

Meanwhile, behind the strong door, Uncle John's wrath knew