Advancing toward the staircase with bold and soldierly front,
Major Pitcairn said to Uncle John:

"Stand aside, old man, and we'll hold you harmless."

"I don't believe you will, you red-trimmed trooper, you," was the
reply; and, with a dexterous swing of the wooden staff, he mowed
off and down three military hats.

Before any one had time to speak, Martha Moulton adroitly
stooping, as though to recover Major Pitcairn's hat, which had
rolled to her feet, swung the stairway-door into its place with a
resounding bang, and followed up that achievement with a swift
turn of two large wooden buttons, one high up, and the other low
down, near the floor.

"There!" she said, "he is safe out of mischief for awhile, and
your heads are safe as well. Pardon a poor old man, who does not
know what he is about."

"He seems to know remarkably well," exclaimed an officer.

Meanwhile, behind the strong door, Uncle John's wrath knew no
bounds. In his frantic endeavors to burst the fastenings of the
wooden buttons, rheumatic cramps seized him and carried the day,
leaving him out of the battle.

Meanwhile, a portion of the soldiery clustered about the door.
The king's horses were fed within five feet of the great brass