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The girl espied the great feed-box. She ran to it and lifted the lid. “Here! here!” she called.”Get in here.”

They had been tearing noiselessly around the rear part of the barn. At her low call they came and plunged at the box. They did not all get in at the same moment without a good de
al of a tangle. The wounded men gasped and muttered, but they at last were flopped down on the layer of feed which covered the bottom. Swiftly and softly the girl lowered the lid and then turned like a flash toward the door.

No one appeared there, so she went close to survey the situation. The troopers had dismounted, and stood in silence by their horses.

A grey-bearded man, whose red cheeks and nose shone vividly above the whiskers, was strolling about with two or three others. They wore double-breasted coats, and faded yellow sashes were wound under their black leather sword-belts. The grey-bearded soldier was apparently giving orders, pointing here and there.

Mary tiptoed to the feed-box.”They’ve all got off their horses,” she said to it. A finger projected from a knot-hole near the top, and said to her very plainly, “Come closer.” She obeyed, and then a muffled voice could be heard: “Scoot for the house, lady, and if we don’t see you again, why, much obliged for what you done.”

“Good-bye,” she said to the feed-box.

She made two attempts to walk dauntlessly from the barn, but each time she faltered and failed just before she reached the point where she could have been seen by the blue-coated troopers. At last, however, she made a sort of a rush forward and went out into the bright sunshine.

The group of men in double-breasted coats wheeled in her direction at the instant. The grey-bearded officer forgot to lower his arm which had been stretched forth in giving an order.

She felt that her feet were touching the ground in a most unnatural manner. Her bearing, she believed, was suddenly grown awkward and ungainly. Upon her face she thought that this sentence was plainly written: “There are three men hidden in the feed-box.”

The grey-bearded soldier came toward her. She stopped; she seemed about to run away. But the soldier doffed his little blue cap and looked amiable.”You live here, I presume?” he said.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Well, we are obliged to camp here for the night, and as we’ve got two wounded men with us I don’t suppose you’d mind if we put them in the barn.”

“In–in the barn?”

He became aware that she was agitated. He smiled assuringly.”You needn’t be frightened. We won’t hurt anything around here. You’ll all be safe enough.”

The girl balanced on one foot and swung the other to and fro in the grass. She was looking down at it.”But–but I don’t think ma would like it if–if you took the barn.”

The old officer laughed.”Wouldn’t she?” said he.”That’s so. Maybe she wouldn’t.” He reflected for a time and then decided cheerfully: “Well, we will have to go ask her, anyhow. Where is she? In the house?”

“Yes,” replied the girl, “she’s in the house. She–she’ll be scared to death when she sees you!”

“Well, you go and ask her then,” said the soldier, always wearing a benign smile.”You go ask her and then come and tell me.”

When the girl pushed open the door and entered the kitchen, she found it empty.”Ma!” she called softly. There was no answer. The kettle still was humming its low song. The knife and the curl of potato-skin lay on the floor.

She went to her mother’s room and entered timidly. The new, lonely aspect of the house shook her nerves. Upon the bed was a confusion of coverings.”Ma!” called the girl, quaking in fear that her mother was not there to reply. But there was a sudden turmoil of the quilts, and her mother’s head was thrust forth.”Mary!” she cried, in what seemed to be a supreme astonishment, “I thought–I thought—-“