"Now," said I one evening when we had all comfortably arranged ourselves
to spend the twilight in doing nothing, "do tell me a very interesting
story, Aunt Henshaw--for you know that I am going home soon, and perhaps
it is the last that I shall hear."

"Well," said she with a smile, "if it is to be so very interesting, I
must think very hard first."

Cousin Statia had been looking towards the door, when she suddenly
inquired: "Did you ever tell her about the bullet hole?"

"Why, no," replied the old lady, "I do not believe I ever did. Have you
noticed the round hole in the front door, Amy?"

I replied in the negative; and taking me into the hall, she led the way
to the front door which opened in two parts, and in the upper half I
distinctly perceived a bullet hole which had been made by the British;
and it was the story attached to this very hole which she was about to
tell me.

"Well, one night," said she, "a long while ago, I sat by the fire with
the baby in my arms, while the other children were playing around. The
two women servants were in the kitchen, and Mr. Henshaw had taken the
men several miles off, on some business relating to the farm. It was
just about this time, before the candles were lit; and one of the women
came in to tell me that five British soldiers were approaching the
house.

"Fasten all the doors then," said I, "and let no one enter unless I