Part 1 (2/2)

Certain it is that the lad was alarmed, but he understood, from what his father had said many times, that it was not wise to let the Indians know of his fear, and, continuing at the labor, he said, in a low tone, to Mark:

”Don't raise your head, nor look around. A canoe filled with Abenakis has sneaked in behind the harbor island; can it be mischief is intended?”

”They may be after rock-cod, and count on coming ash.o.r.e later,” Mark replied, continuing his work in such a fas.h.i.+on that he could look seaward without seeming to do so.

At this moment the occupants of the last canoe were moving around the point of the island, as if to gain a position where a full view of the buildings might be had, for there could be no possibility the visitors were engaged in fis.h.i.+ng, of any other such peaceful pursuit.

”There's trouble of some kind, and it's for us to find out what,”

Mark said, in a whisper. ”There must have been other canoes than the one you saw, for I have already counted eleven men on the island, and they could not all have come in a single boat.”

The boys had had no experience, fortunately for them, in Indian warfare, but they had heard enough from their parents to be fully alive to the possibilities, and after a few moments, during which time fear had held them speechless, Mark said, in a low tone, although there was no chance the enemy could have heard him:

”We must get over to the house without seeming to be running away.

You start first, and when you go through the gate, call out that mother wants to see me.”

Luke obeyed leisurely, although his heart was beating so loudly and heavily that it seemed as if it could be heard a long distance away, and, arriving at the palisade, he summoned his brother, as had been proposed.

Then it was that Mark was at liberty to leave his work, and he answered the summons more quickly, perhaps, than ever before in his life.

Mistress Pemberton was busily engaged inside the house, and the other two children were in a small garden directly in the rear of the building, therefore the boys were able to impart the disagreeable tidings without alarming those who could be of little or no a.s.sistance.

”Indians skulking on the harbor island!” the good woman exclaimed, when Mark had hurriedly told his story and her face paled as the lads had never seen it before.

”And they have chanced to come on the very day our father went fis.h.i.+ng!” Luke cried.

”It wasn't chance that brought them, my son. Unless coming for some evil purpose, they would have landed boldly, as they have done so many times. It must be that the painted wretches have been watching to learn when your father and uncle left the island! Ask your aunt and Susan to come over her; the other children need not be told until it is no longer possible to hold them in ignorance of what may be done.”

Luke ran swiftly to the house, which stood hardly more than fifty feet away, and in a twinkling Mistress Harding and her daughter Susan were where they could hear what, to settlers in their situation, was the worst possible news.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”Indians skulking on the harbor island!”]

Women who did their share in conquering the wilderness were not cowardly, even though they might turn pale with apprehension when the first note of danger was sounded, and there two, knowing it was useless to expect aid from the outside, lost no time in planning a defence.

The palisade was weak in many places; more than one of the timbers had decayed and fallen, for while the Indians from the near-by mainland were friendly disposed, there seemed to be no good reason why time and labor should be expended upon a means of defence which might never be needed, and at this moment both the women bethought themselves of such fact.

”There may be time in which to strengthen the fence,” Mistress Harding suggested, and Mark, who considered himself as well-nigh being a man grown, took the part of leader by saying, stoutly:

”In can be done, aunt. Luke and I will get the timbers, and the other children shall drag them out of the woods, coming into the enclosure near the spring where the Indians cannot see them.”

”But surely we can do something to help the work along,” his mother said, quickly.

”So you shall. We must know what the Indians are about, and you two can take one of the small boys down near the sh.o.r.e. Stay there as if bent on pleasuring, and, without seeming to do so, keep a sharp watch on the harbor island. I will look after the rest.”

Boys who lived on the frontier in 1758 were accustomed to doing the work of men, and very seldom was one found to be a coward.

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