ket
of wood on the threshold of the kitchen door, he departed around the
corner of the house. Presently he had climbed a pear tree, dropped
from one of its overhanging branches on the lean-to, raised a sash and
crept into the window.

Slipping off his shoes, heavy with spring mud, he proceeded to search
for Uncle John. He was not in his own room; he was not in the
guest-chamber; he was not in any one of the rooms.

On the floor, by the window in the hall, looking out upon the green,
he found the broken cup and saucer that Martha Moulton had let fall.
Having made a second round, in which he investigated every closet and
penetrated into the spaces under beds, Joe thought of the garret.

Tramp, tramp went the heavy feet on the sanded floors below, drowning
every possible sound from above; nevertheless, as the lad opened the
door leading into the garret, he whispered cautiously: "Uncle John!
Uncle John!"

All was silent above. Joe went up, and was startled by a groan. He had
to stand a few seconds, to let the darkness grow into light, ere he
could see; and, when he could discern outlines in the dimness, there
was given to him the picture of Uncle John, lying helpless amid and
upon the nubbins that had been piled over his strong box.

"Why, Uncle John, are you dead?" asked Joe, climbing over to his
side.

"Is the house afire?" was the response.

"House afire? No! The confounded Red Coats up and put it out."

"I thought they was going to let me burn to death up here!" groaned
Uncle John.

"Can I help you up?" and Joe proffered two strong hands, rather black
with toil and smoke.

"No, no! You can't help me. If the house isn't afire, I'll stand it
till the fellows are gone, and then, Joe, you fetch the doctor as
quick as you can."

"_You_ can't get a doctor for love nor money this night, Uncle John.
There's too much work to be done in Lexington and Concord to-night for
wounded and dying men; and there'll be more of 'em too afore a single
Red Coat sees Boston again. They'll be hunted down every step of the
way. They've killed Captain Davis, from Acton."

"You don't say so!"

"Yes, they have, and--"

"I say, Joe Devins, go down and do--do something. There's _my niece_
a-feeding the murderers! I'll disown her. She shan't have a penny of
my pounds, she shan't!"

Both Joe and Uncle John were compelled to remain in inaction, while
below, the weary little woman acted the kind hostess to His Majesty's
troops.

B