Part 1 (2/2)
”Don't believe it?” and Joe looked, as he echoed the words, as though only a boy could feel sufficient disgust at such want of common sense, in full view of the fact, that Reuben Brown had just brought the news that eight men had been killed by the king's Red-coats, in Lexington, which fact he made haste to impart.
”I won't believe a word of it,” she said, stoutly, ”until I see the soldiers coming.”
”Ah! Hear that!” cried Joe, tossing back his hair and swinging his arms triumphantly at an airy foe. ”You won't have to wait long. THAT SIGNAL is for the minute men. They are going to march out to meet the Red-coats. Wish I was a minute man, this minute.”
Meanwhile, poor Uncle John was getting down the steps of the stairway, with many a grimace and groan. As he touched the floor, Joe, his face beaming with excitement and enthusiasm, sprang to place a chair for him at the table, saying, ”Good morning!” at the same moment.
”May be,” groaned Uncle John, ”youngsters LIKE YOU may think it is a good morning, but I DON'T, such a din and clatter as the fools have kept up all night long. If I had the power” (and now the poor old man fairly groaned with rage), ”I'd make 'em quiet long enough to let an old man get a wink of sleep, when the rheumatism lets go.”
”I'm real sorry for you,” said Joe, ”but you don't know the news. The king's troops, from camp, in Boston, are marching right down here, to carry off all our arms that they can find.”
”Are they?” was the sarcastic rejoined. ”It's the best news I've heard in a long while. Wish they had my arms, this minute. They wouldn't carry them a step farther than they could help, I know. Run and tell them mine are ready, Joe.”
”But, Uncle John, wait till after breakfast, you'll want to use them once more,” said Martha Moulton, trying to help him into the chair that Joe had placed on the white sanded floor.
Meanwhile, Joe Devins had ears for all the sounds that penetrated the kitchen from out of doors, and he had eyes for the slices of well-browned pork and the golden hued Johnny-cake lying before the glowing coals on the broad hearth.
As the little woman bent to take up the breakfast, Joe, intent on doing some kindness for her in the way of saving treasures, asked, ”Shan't I help you, Mother Moulton?”
”I reckon I am not so old that I can't lift a mite of cornbread,” she replied with chilling severity.
”Oh, I didn't mean to lift THAT THING,” he made haste to explain, ”but to carry off things and hide 'em away, as everybody else has been doing half the night. I know a first-rate place up in the woods. Used to be a honey tree, you know, and it's just as hollow as anything. Silver spoons and things would be just as safe in it--” but Joe's words were interrupted by unusual tumult on the street and he ran off to learn the news, intending to return and get the breakfast that had been offered to him.
Presently he rushed back to the house with cheeks aflame and eyes ablaze with excitement. ”They're a coming!” he cried. ”They're in sight down by the rocks. They see 'em marching, the men on the hill, do!”
”You don't mean that its really true that the soldiers are coming here, RIGHT INTO OUR TOWN,” cried Martha Moulton, rising in haste and bringing together with rapid flourishes to right and to left, every fragment of silver on the table. Uncle John strove to hold fast his individual spoon, but she twitched it without ceremony out from his rheumatic old fingers, and ran next to the parlor cupboard, wherein lay her movable valuables.
”What in the world shall I do with them,” she cried, returning with her ap.r.o.n well filled with treasures, and borne down by the weight thereof.
”Give 'em to me,” cried Joe. ”Here's a basket, drop 'em in, and I'll run like a brush-fire through the town and across the old bridge, and hide 'em as safe as a weasel's nap.”
Joe's fingers were creamy; his mouth was half filled with Johnny-cake, and his pocket on the right bulged to its utmost capacity with the same, as he held forth the basket; but the little woman was afraid to trust him, as she had been afraid to trust her neighbors.
”No! No!” she replied, to his repeated offers. ”I know what I'll do.
You, Joe Devins, stay right where you are till I come back, and, don't you ever LOOK out of the window.”
”Dear, dear me!” she cried, flushed and anxious when she was out of sight of Uncle John and Joe. ”I WISH I'd given 'em to Col. Barrett when he was here before daylight, only, I WAS afraid I should never get sight of them again.”
She drew off one of her stockings, filled it, tied the opening at the top with a string-plunged stocking and all into a pail full of water and proceeded to pour the contents into the well.
Just as the dark circle had closed over the blue stockings, Joe Devin's face peered down the depths by her side, and his voice sounded out the words: ”O Mother Moulton, the British will search the wells the VERY first thing. Of course, they EXPECT to find things in wells!”
”Why didn't you tell me before, Joe? but now it is too late.”
”I would, if I'd known what you was going to do; they'd been a sight safer, in the honey tree.”
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