One day, I was suddenly seized upon by one of the maids, and carried
out into the orchard, when she began beating me with an iron spoon,
and making as much noise as she possibly could; presently others of
the family joined with tin pans and kettles, and such a babel of
sound you never heard; this, I found afterwards, was to stupefy a
swarm of bees and make them alight which, at last, they did. Then
one of the men with a handkerchief over his face, and with gloves
on, swept the bees into a new hive, and put it by the side of the
old ones.

After this bruising, I was hung up upon my accustomed peg, but my
brazen face still shows the marks which Dolly's iron spoon left on
me that morning.

One feat, however, I performed, which I should think might put our
friend the sword to the blush. I did do something in defence of our
native land in the hour of her danger; he it seems did nothing in
his whole life but play gentleman.

Our cook Dolly was a brave woman, and, during the Revolution, once
or twice she was left quite alone in the house, and every thing was
put under her care.

Upon one of these occasions, she was up stairs, and thought she
heard some one in the house; she came down very softly, and saw a
man in the pantry helping himself to the silver; he was so much
occupied, and she moved so softly, that he did not see or hear her.
I was hanging in the entry close by where she passed; she took me
down very softly, came up behind the soldier,--for such he was,--
and gave him a good box on the ear with me, instead of her hand.