Setting down her heavy bucket, she stopped a moment for rest. From across the street stepped a young officer, gay in his red uniform. “Let me carry that for you, my pretty maid,” he said. “It’s good water; I have tasted it, and I’ll carry your bucket home for you for a kiss.” “Oh, no.” Lettice shrank back. “Oh, yes, I say.” He drew nearer, and, picking up the bucket, held it, laughing. “No kiss, no water.” “Then no water.” And Lettice turned and fled, leaving the soldier laughing at his own defeat. The girl hurried on and entered the gate, which she securely fastened, but behind which she stood for a moment, peeping through the chinks, determining that water she must have as soon as there seemed a chance of getting it. But at that instant she noticed that the sky had again begun to darken, and almost before she could reach the safety of the kitchen, a hurricane swept the city. It suddenly became as dark as night; the wind, which had been high enough the night before, now arose to the violence of a cyclone. Roofs were torn off, trees uprooted, and the air was full of flying particles. Even things ordinarily supposed to be secure were wrenched from their fastenings and went hurtling through the air as if the law of gravitation had suddenly become naught. The rattle of thunder, the sharp lightning, the tremendous downpour of rain--all these were terrifying, and Lettice dared not go on with her preparations for a meal. Before many minutes down came her brother and Mr. Baldwin. “Up already?” they said. “Already? Do you think it is still night? It is long past breakfast-time, and I did hope to have it ready for you, but I was so scared I could not go on with it, and besides, I have no water.” Then she related her encounter with the redcoat. “You perverse child, will you never learn prudence?” said her brother, shaking his head. “I am afraid not,” returned she, so earnestly that her brother smiled. “Anyhow,” she said triumphantly, “I saw Admiral Cockburn on his white mare, riding up the avenue this morning. It was when I first got up, and it was so funny to see the little colt trotting on behind.” “How do you know it was he?” her brother asked. “Mary Ingle told me when I was talking to her this morning. Dear me, I wish I had Lutie here.” “I am glad you haven’t,” returned her brother. “Lutie is a perfect baby, and afraid of her own shadow; she’d be worse than no one at all in all this.” “Gracious!” exclaimed Lettice, “what a report that was! The lightning has struck somewhere very near, but it shook the whole house.” “That was no lightning stroke,” Mr. Baldwin declared; “it was an explosion of some kind.” “Oh, I hope nothing has happened to our friends at the Arsenal.” “It seemed to come from that direction.” There was no cessation of the terrible storm, and Lettice finally declared that water they must have. “If I only could have brought my bucket safely home,” she said wistfully.