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'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 m