be that you have
any beds to go to."

In fact the men outside were perfectly right. The day was Thursday,
though it neared Friday. The Sabbath was a long way off yet, as Hannah
knew quite well.

"You doited old hag, open the door."

"I'm a lone widow woman," said Hannah, plaintively, "I canna be letting
the likes of ye in and me in my bed. It wouldna be dacent if I did.
Where'd my good name be if I did the like and me not know ye?"

A savage kick at the door shook it on its hinges.

"Bide quiet, now," said Hannah, "and tell me who ye are afore I open
to you. Would you have me let robbers intil the house, and the master
awa'?"

"We're men of the Killulta yeomanry, we're here to search the house by
order of Captain Twinely. Open in the King's name."

"Why couldn't ye have tellt me that afore? There isn't a woman living
has as much respect for the King as mysel'. Wait now, wait till I slip
on my petticoat. You wouldna have a woman come to the door to you in her
shift, would ye?"

There was a long pause--too long for the yeomen outside. Another kick,
and then another, shook the door. Hannah went over to it and began to
fumble with the bolt.

"I'm afeard," she said, "that the lock's hampered."

"I'll soon cure that; stand clear of the keyhole till I fire."

"For the Lord's sake, man, dinna be shootin' aff your guns, I canna
abide the sound o' the like. It dizzens me. Dinna be hasty, fair and
easy goes far in the day. Who is it you said you were?"

"The yeomen, you deaf old hag."

"The yeomen, God bless us, the yeomen. That's the kind of lads that
dresses themselves up braw in sojers' coats and then, when there's any
fighting going on, let's the real sojers do it, and they stand and look
round to see the gommerels admiring them. Faith I'll let you in. There's
no call even for a hirplin ould woman with one foot in the grave and the
ither out of it to be afeard of the likes of you."

Hannah Macaulay's description of her bodily condition erred on the
side of self-depreciation. The one foot which remained out of the grave
carried her across the kitchen floor with remarkable speed. She took the
poker now red, almost white, hot at the end, darted back to the door,
and flung it open. With a wild whoop she rushed at the two yeomen who
stood on the threshold. There were other yells besides her's, a smell
of burning cloth and singed flesh, a hurried treading of feet, and a
clattering of the hoofs of frightened horses.