_Annie_. Poor Endross! And he will go, to his dying day, a crippled
thing. But yesterday I saw him springing by so proudly! And the
mother----

_Mrs. G_. "_Words, words_," she answered sternly when I tried to comfort
her; "ay, words are easy. _Wait till you see your own child's blood_.
Wait till you stand by and see his young limbs hewn away, and the groans
come thicker and thicker that you cannot soothe; and then let them prate
to you of the good cause." Bitter words! God knows what is in store for
us;--all day this strange dread has clung to me.

_Annie_. Dear mother, is not this the superstition you were wont to
chide?

_Mrs. G_. Ay, ay, we should have been in Albany ere this. In these wild
times, Annie, every chance-blown straw that points at evil, is likely to
prove a faithful index; and if it serve to nerve the heart for it, we
may call it heaven-sent indeed. Annie,--hear me calmly, my child,--the
enemy, so at least goes the rumor, are nearer than we counted on this
morning, and--hush, not a word.

_Annie_. She is but dreaming. Just so she murmured in her sleep last
night; twice she waked me with the saddest cry, and after that she sat
all night by the window in her dressing-gown, I could not persuade her
to sleep again. Tell me, mother, you say _and_--and what?

_Mrs. G_. I cannot think it true, 'tis rumored though, that these savage
neighbors of ours have joined the enemy.