"There it is!" said Aunt Stanshy. "It is that block-house."

"What! the garrison-house?" inquired Sid. "Big as that? I thought they
were smaller."

"The real garrison-house is in the corner, this way, and makes one room on
the first floor. People that came to live in the garrison-house built
above it and built beyond it, turning the garrison-house into a single
room in a big, old-fashioned building. Mr. Parlin, may we take a look at
the garrison-house?"

"Sartin, sartin. Step in. I guess Amanda is there, washin' the baby; but
she's used to children, and wont mind you more than flies," said a stout,
broad-shouldered farmer, passing through the yard, a hoe resting on his
shoulder. "Let me go with you."

Amanda, who was washing the baby, and at the same time trying to keep in
decent order six other children, gave them a hearty welcome, and showed
that she did not mind them more than "flies."

"Aunt Stanshy, how d'ye do? Are these all your children?" asked Amanda,
laughing.

"Yes," said Sid; "she is our mother to-day, and we are proud of her."

The white shields all smiled their approbation of Sid's ready gallantry.

"And this is the garrison-house?" inquired Will Somers.