knocker, while, within the house, the beautiful little old woman,
in her Sunday-best-raiment, tried to do the dismal honors of the
day to the foes of her country. Watching her, one would have
thought she was entertaining heroes returned from the achievement
of valiant deeds, whereas, in her own heart, she knew full well
that she was giving a little to save much.

Nothing could exceed the seeming alacrity with which she fetched
water from the well for the officers: and, when Major Pitcairn
gallantly ordered his men to do the service, the little soul was
in alarm; she was so afraid that "somehow, in some way or
another, the blue stocking would get hitched on to the bucket."
She knew that she must to its rescue, and so she bravely
acknowledged herself to have taken a vow (when, she did not say),
to draw all the water that was taken from that well.

"A remnant of witchcraft!" remarked a soldier within hearing.

"Do I look like a witch?" she demanded.

"If you do," replied Major Pitcairn, "I admire New England
witches, and never would condemn one to be hung, or burned,
or--smothered."

Martha Moulton never wore so brilliant a color on her aged cheeks
as at that moment. She felt bitter shame at the ruse she had
attempted, but silver spoons were precious, and, to escape the
smile that went around at Major Pitcairn's words, she was only
too glad to go again to the well and dip slowly the high,
over-hanging sweep into the cool, clear, dark depth below.