As they sat there a rumble of thunder was heard. Roberta listened
intently: "'Tater wagens, Uncle Squire, _big_ 'tater wagens, rumbling over
the bridge."

"Yes, Lil Missus, it's comen'. En de stormier 'tis, en de darker 'tis, de
better fur him en me."

That night about nine o'clock Mrs. Marsden heard a low but distinct rap on
the shutters of the sitting-room window opening on the porch. She happened
to be there alone. It startled her for an instant, but she soon recovered
composure and asked:

"Who is it?"

"A friend," was the reply.

"What do you want"

"Shelter for a few hours, a bite to eat, and--I will tell you more anon."

"These are dreadful times, and I am not in the habit of taking strangers
in at this hour of the night."

"All right," said he on the outside; then added with the glibness of a
Fourth of July stump speaker, "that is, if you can reconcile it with your
conscience to turn the cold shoulder on a fellow being in the desperate
strait I am in."

"Where did you come from?" was next asked.