THE FROGS OF WINDHAM


Once, in the days of Indian attacks on the small English
settlements in Connecticut, a family of children had a narrow
escape from capture by the savages. A party of Indians on the
warpath passed near their home while their father and elder
brothers were away working in the fields with the neighbors. It
was the custom in those dangerous times for men to work together
in companies, going from one man's fields and meadows to
another's, and for greater safety they carried their firearms
with them. They stacked the guns on the edge of the field with a
sentinel to watch them and keep a lookout for possible Indians.
Sometimes it was a boy who did this sentry duty, standing on a
stump like a sentry in a box.

There was no one left at home that day but a girl fourteen years
old and her four younger brothers. The mother had died not long
before and the little sister was caring for the family. All
unconscious that any Indians were near, she went down to the
spring for water. As she lifted the full pail she caught sight of
a dark, painted face peering at her from a thicket on the edge of
the clearing. She dropped the pail at once and ran as fast as she
could to the house, calling to the boys to run in too and help
her close the heavy door. Doors were protected then by a thick
wooden bar across them on the inside. The children hurried in
and, working together, they got the bar in position before the
Indians reached the house. But the two halves of the door yielded