Waterbury Democrat

shoot up alongside the oven, and, entering the crack left by the partly-opened door, would ignite the powder.
“If the worst comes to the worst,” she said, aloud, as if to give herself courage. “Men have shown what they could do in this war; I will show what a girl can do.”
Already her quick ears caught the sound of the grating of a boat upon the beach. She ran to the window and looked out. Sailors and marines, headed by a coarse-looking man clad in the uniform of an officer, came trooping up the beach.
She stepped back hastily and lighted the fagots upon the hearth. As the small flame licked the wood and the fire started, there came a loud rap upon the door.
The fire, though small, was burning briskly. Placing herself with her back against the door leading to the extension, with one hand upon the handle of the bellows, she said: “Come in.”
But they had not waited for her to answer, and, treading close upon one another's heels, the officer and three men entered the room, the rest of the company remaining outside. The officer was a coarse-featured, cruel-looking man.
“Where's the old man?” he shouted. “We want to see him, and quickly, too.”
“I am the only one at home,” she answered.
“That's a pretty lie,” he said, “but it won't do. We're going to search this house, anyway. If we find the man we think you've hidden, or rebel goods, we'll burn the house.”
“I have a little sister who is very sick,” she said; “you can search everywhere you wish, but in her room.”
“Not search there! Why, that is the very place we'll search. That dodge has been played upon us too often. Hasn't it, my boys?” he said, turning to his men as if, even cruel as he was, he would have their support.
The flame on the fireplace was growing larger; the ashes of the burning wood fell with a white glow upon the bricks. Barbara saw that with this man entreaties would be of no avail.
“You can search everywhere but there,” she said, “Give me your word that the room will not be entered, and you may go over the whole house, but I will not allow you to enter that room!”
“Will not allow it!” The British officer repeated her words, as if he could not believe his ears. “Will not allow it! Well, that is the most preposterous thing I have ever heard. You know what that remark has cost you?—a kiss! I am going to give you a kiss—a remark that deserves a kiss.”
Suddenly from back in the direction of the hills came the sharp crack of a rifle; a moment more and from another direction came the dull report of a musket.
The officer pricked up his ears. The people were rising. Those reports meant that they knew the British had landed, and that they were flocking together and would soon be hovering about him.
“Come on, men!” he said; “we will search the house quickly, but I will have my kiss first.”
And he stepped forward.
“Stand back!” Barbara said.
Without knowing why he did so, he obeyed her. Something about that lithe graceful, resolute figure looked dangerous, even though it were only a girl. He hesitated but for a moment, and then took a rapid step forward.
At the same moment he saw a line of fire suddenly spring from the embers on the hearth; then the huge chimney, as if it would itself protect its own hearthstone and the girl beside it, leaned over; there was the deafening crash of an explosion, and the chimney hurled itself forward.
The British officer and his men went down as if they had suddenly met the fire of a masked battery.
Barbara, protected in a great measure by the huge wall of the chimney, found to her surprise that she was still living, and had only been hurled against the doorway. Even in her dazed condition, she saw there was only one of the men who was crawling toward the doorway. The officer did not stir as he lay before the demolished fireplace.
Just then the door was pushed open by the rest of the boat's crew, but they halted on the threshold. Through the blue haze of the explosion they saw their comrades lying upon the floor, wounded or unconscious, Barbara's straight, girlish figure was outlined through the smoke against the background of the door she guarded. Her face, pale and wan, yet firm with courage and resolve, confronted them through the haze. Even as they looked, a piece of the chimney, which had been loosened by the explosion, but which had not as yet given way, fell with a crash at their feet.
The peculiar character of the explosion, the condition of their comrades, the loss of their officer, and, last of all, the mysterious look of a girl alone facing them, caused a strange dread to creep over the superstitious sailors, and, as if to heighten it, there came the sharp crack of rifles now close at hand.
A panic seized them, and their cry was “Back to the boats!” Lifting their fallen comrades, they rushed out of the door, and the house was again free from intrusion.
Barbara ran to the window and looked out. She saw them retreating hastily toward the boat, while, even now and then, from behind some bush or boulder, came the report of a gun as the farmers, who had come to help her, fired.
She saw them at last reach the boat. She saw the boat return to the frigate. She saw the frigate weigh anchor.
Then, with a wild sob, she ran to her sister's room and fell fainting across the bed.
There her uncle found her, beside the sister she had protected.—Leslie's Monthly.