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She turned and glanced up at the court-house. Already flames were issuing from it. “Go in the house and let it burn, indeed !” thought she. “He knows me, don’t he? Oh, sir! for the love of Heaven won’t you stop it?” she said, entreatingly.

“Run in the house, good mother. That is a wise woman,” he advised.

Down in her heart, and as the very outcome of lip and brain she wanted to say, “You needn’t ‘mother’ me, you murderous rascals!” but, remembering everything that was at stake, she crushed her wrath and buttoned it in as closely as she had Uncle John behind the door in the morning, and again, with swift gentleness, laid her hand on his arm.

He turned and looked at her. Vexed at her persistence, and extremely annoyed at intelligence that had just reached him from the North Bridge, he said, imperiously, “Get away! or you’ll be trodden down by the horses!”

“I can’t go!” she cried, clasping his arm, and fairly clinging to it in her frenzy of excitement. “Oh, stop the fire, quick, quick! or my house will burn!”

“I have no time to put out your fires,” he said, carelessly, shaking loose from her hold and turning to meet a messenger with news.

Poor little woman! What could she do? The wind was rising, and the fire grew. Flame was creeping out in a little blue curl in a new place, under the rafter’s edge, and nobody cared. That was what increased the pressing misery of it all. It was so unlike a common country alarm, where everybody rushed up and down the streets, crying “Fire! fire! f-i-r-e!” and went hurrying to and fro for pails of water to help put it out.

Until that moment the little woman did not know how utterly deserted she was.

In very despair, she ran to her house, seized two pails, filled them with greater haste than she had ever drawn water before, and, regardless of Uncle John’s imprecations, carried them forth, one in either hand, the water dripping carelessly down the side breadths of her fair silk gown, her silvery curls tossed and tumbled in white confusion, her pleasant face aflame with eagerness, and her clear eyes suffused with tears.

Thus equipped with facts and feeling, she once more appeared to Major Pitcairn.

“Have you a mother in old England?” she cried. “If so, for her sake, stop this fire.”

Her words touched his heart.

“And if I do–?” he answered.

” Then your johnny-cake on my hearth won’t burn up,” she said, with a quick little smile, adjusting her cap.

Major Pitcairn laughed, and two soldiers, at his command, seized the pails and made haste to the court-house, followed by many more.

For awhile the fire seemed victorious, but, by brave effort, it was finally overcome, and the court-house saved.

At a distance Joe Devins had noticed the smoke hovering like a little cloud, then sailing away still more like a cloud over the town; and he had made haste to the scene, arriving in time to venture on the roof, and do good service there.

After the fire was extinguished, he thought of Martha Moulton, and he could not help feeling a bit guilty at the consciousness that he had gone off and left her alone.

Going to the house he found her entertaining the king’s troopers with the best food her humble store afforded.

She was so charmed with herself, and so utterly well pleased with the success of her pleading, that the little woman’s nerves fairly quivered with jubilation; and best of all, the blue stocking was still safe in the well, for had she not watched with her own eyes every time the bucket was dipped to fetch up water for the fire, having, somehow, got rid of the vow she had taken regarding the drawing of the water.