arms. She had cried a good deal lately, because of the headache, she
always said. And right after breakfast she had put on her bonnet
and shawl, telling him to stay in the house till she came back
from grandpa's. Then she had gone away, leaving him all alone until
Biddy Shay came, all out of breath, and began to clear the table
and wash the dishes, all the while talking to herself in a way that
he was sure God would not like, and probably would send her to the
bad place for it when she died.

After a while all of the men went out to the barn-lot, where their
horses were tethered. Uncle Fred and Uncle Dan had their rifles.
He stood at the kitchen window and watched them with wide, excited
eyes. Were they going off to kill Indians, or bears, or cattymunks?
They all talked at once, especially his uncles,--and they swore,
too. Then his grandpa stood in front of them and spoke very loudly,
pointing his finger at them. He heard him say, over and over again:

"Let them go, I say! I tell you, let them go!"

He wondered why his father was not there, if there was any fighting
to be done. His father was a great fighter. He was the bestest shot
in all the world. He could kill an Injin a million miles away, or
a squirrel, or a groundhog. So he asked Biddy Shay.

"Ast me no questions and I'll tell ye no lies," was all the answer
he got from Biddy.

The next day he went up to grandpa's with his mother to stay, and
Uncle Fred told him that his pa had gone off to the war. He believed
this, for were not the rifle, the powder horn and the shot flask