r, and was awakened at
once.

She was startled and terrified, and, sitting up in bed, shook her
husband violently by the shoulder.

"Deacon--Deacon Hopkins!" she exclaimed.

"What's the matter?" asked the deacon, drowsily.

"Matter enough. There's robbers downstairs."

Now the deacon was broad awake.

"Robbers!" he exclaimed. "Pooh! Nonsense! You're dreamin', wife."

Just then there was another racket. Sam, in trying to effect his
escape, tumbled over a chair, and there was a yell of pain.

"Am I dreaming now, deacon?" demanded his wife, triumphantly.

"You're right, wife," said the deacon, turning pale, and trembling.
"It's an awful situation. What shall we do?"

"Do? Go downstairs, and confront the villains!" returned his wife,
energetically.

"They might shoot me," said her husband, panic-stricken.
"They're--they're said to be very desperate fellows."

"Are you a man, and won't defend your property?" exclaimed his wife,
taunting him, "Do you want me to go down?"

"Perhaps you'd better," said the deacon, accepting the suggestion with
alacrity.

"What!" shrieked Mrs. Hopkins. "You are willing they should shoot
me?"

"They wouldn't shoot a woman," said the deacon.

But his wife was not appeased.

Just then the unlucky Sam trod on the tail of the cat, who was quietly
asleep on the hearth. With the instinct of self-defence, she scratched
his leg, which was undefended by the customary clothing, and our hero,
who did not feel at all heroic in the dark, not knowing what had got
hold of him, roared with pain and fright.

"This is terrible!" gasped the deacon. "Martha, is the door locked?"

"No."

"Then I'll get up and lock it. O Lord, what will become of us?"

Sam was now ascending the stairs, and, though he tried to walk softly,
the stairs creaked beneath his weight.

"They're comin' upstairs," exclaimed Mrs. Hopkins. "Lock the door
quick, deacon, or we shall be murdered in our bed."

The deacon reached the door in less time than he would have
accomplished the same feat in the daytime, and hurriedly locked it.

"It's locked, Martha," he said, "but they may break it down."

"Or fire through the door--"

"Let's hide under the bed," suggested the heroic deacon.

"Don't speak so loud. They'll hear. I wish it was mornin'."

The deacon stood at the door listening, and made a discovery.

"They're goin up into the garret," he announced. "That's strange--"

"What do they want up there, I wonder?