[Illustration: AGNES SLIPPED OFF TO A CORNER WHERE JEANIE FOUND HER.] “Ah, but Polly is a romp; I’d fain have her agility,” said Jeanie, admiringly. Agnes laughed as Polly belabored a stout lad who captured her in a rollicking game, but she yawned the next minute and said: “I’m sleepy. Does one have to stay up all night?” “Indeed, yes. You’ll have no chance to sleep. We shall have to hang on till morning or they will hunt us out and parade us up and down the floor. Here is something to waken you up. Supper is ready.” Agnes rose with alacrity, and the company trooped to the table which was nothing more than a slab of wood supported by four round legs set in auger holes. It was set with bent and dented pewter ware, rude wooden bowls, and trenchers. A few pewter and horn spoons, but no knives were visible; the men used their hunting-knives which they drew from a sheath hanging from their hunting-belts. But hardly had they begun to attack the venison and bearmeat, the roasted corn, and johnny-cakes, before the door was flung open and an express whispered hoarsely, “Indians!” Agnes clutched Jeanie. “Where is my father?” she whispered. “Oh, what shall we do?” “To the blockhouse!” The word was passed; then quickly lights were extinguished, and creeping slowly along in the darkness the whole company started forth, not knowing what moment the terrible yell of an Indian would startle them, or whether they could reach their refuge unhurt. Every one was silent as death. The dreaded word “Indians!” silenced even the smallest child who, clinging to its mother, understood something of the terror which inspired the older ones. Close by Agnes’s side strode Archie. “They shall kill me before they take you,” he whispered. But there was no need for his heroics, for once within the blockhouse they were safe, the Indians rarely attacking these little forts. It was found, however, that all were not gathered in the retreat, and that those who, for one reason or another, had not been at the housewarming were in danger. “My father was off hunting,” said Agnes, pitifully. “He does not care for frolics, you know. Oh, if the Indians have found him, what shall I do?” “Never fear, my lass,” Polly tried to reassure her. “I’ve no doubt he is hiding, and when the redskins go off, he’ll come in safe and sound.” This was comforting, but still Agnes had her fears as one after another of the stragglers crept back to the fort, each with some new report. “Tell us your news, Sandy,” were the words which greeted the last comer. “The Indians are burning and plundering the cabins,” he told them. “I sneaked around through the woods and got here safely. I don’t think there are many of them, just a small raiding party. They have made a dash, and will be off again presently. They’ll not attack the fort.” “Did you see my father?” Agnes asked fearfully. The man was silent a moment, then he answered: “I left him an hour since on his way here. Hasn’t he come?” “No; oh, no.”