Indian whom I wounded on my way home from Plymouth. They must have
been watching the house, and, seeing us depart this morning, knew well
that they had naught but children to deal with."

"Aye, but such children!" said Stephen Day, who had been greatly
impressed by the story of the jack-o'-lantern. "We 'll follow them,
indeed, and if we find them"--his jaw shut with a snap and he said no
more.

[Illustration]

While the men laid their plans for the morrow, the children and their
mother stole round to the front of the house, and Dan began a search
for Nimrod. He had been neither seen nor heard since the Indian had
given him that fearful blow and thrown him out. They found him lying
a few feet from the house still half stunned, and Dan lifted him
tenderly in his arms, brought him into the house, and laid him down
before the fire, where he had slept so peacefully only one short hour
before. Nimrod licked his hand, and rapped his tail feebly on the
hearthstone. Nancy wept over him, while Dan bathed his wounded head,
and tried to find out if any bones were broken.

"Poor Nimrod," said the Goodwife, as she set a bowl of milk before the
wounded dog, "thou art a brave soldier. Drink this and soon thou wilt
be wagging thy tail as briskly as ever."

She stirred the fire and lit the candles, and when the Goodman came in
a few moments later, the little family looked about their new home to
see what damage had been done. Nancy's little feast was a sad wreck.
There were the pies, to be sure, but the table-cloth was awry and the