and stood looking anxiously for "red devils" among the stumps of
the farther clearing. An old flint-lock, on the shoulder of a man
beside him, had a barrel half as long as the pole. David Church
was equipped with axe and gun, that stood at rest on either side of
him.

Evening came, and no sign of Indians. While it was growing dusk I
borrowed a pail of the innkeeper and milked the cow, and brought
the pail, heaped with froth, to my mother, who passed brimming cups
of milk among the children. As night fell, we boys, more daring
than our fathers, crept to the edge of the timber and set the big
brush-heaps afire, and scurried back with the fear of redmen at our
heels. The men were now sitting in easy attitudes and had begun to
talk.

"Don't b'lieve there's no Injuns comin'," said Bill Foster. "Ef
they wus they 'd come."

"'Cordin' t' my observation," said Arv Law, looking up at the sky,
"Injuns mos' gen'ally comes when they git ready."

"An' 't ain't when yer ready t' hev 'em, nuther," said Lon
Butterfield.

"B'lieve they come up 'n' peeked out o' the bushes 'n' see Arv with
thet air pike-pole, 'n' med up their minds they hed n't better run
up ag'in' it," said Bill Foster. "Scairt 'em--thet's whut's th'
matter."

"Man 'et meks light o' this pole oughter hev t' carry it," said