windows, watching, some with alarmed, but many with amused faces. Sally
Fairthorn, although it was washing-day, stole up through Dr. Deane's
garden and into Martha's room, for at least half an hour, but Joe and
Jake left their overturned shocks of corn unhusked for the whole day.

Some of the young farmers to whom the message had been sent, returned
answer that they were very busy and could not leave their work; the
horses of others were lame; the guns of others broken. By ten o'clock,
however, there were nine volunteers, very irregularly armed and mounted,
in attendance; by eleven o'clock, thirteen, and Alfred Barton, whose
place as leader was anything but comfortable, began to swell with an air
of importance, and set about examining the guns of his command. Neither
he nor any one else noticed particularly that the Irish ostler appeared
to be a great connoisseur in muskets, and was especially interested in
the structure of the flints and pans.

"Let's look over the roll, and see how many are true blue," said Barton,
drawing a paper from his pocket. "There's failing nine or ten, among 'em
some I fully counted on--Withers, he _may_ come yet; Ferris, hardly time
to get word; but Carson, Potter, and Travilla ought to turn up curst
soon, or we'll have the sport without 'em!"

"Give me a horse, Mr. Barton, and I'll ride down for Gilbert!" cried Joe
Fairthorn.

"No use,--Giles went this morning," growled Barton.

"It's time we were starting; which road would be best to take?" asked
one of the volunteers.