At dusk the next evening, after Grandmother Lord had gone to the sewing society, six or seven dreadful-looking objects came splashing through the mud up the road which led to her cottage. They were dressed in uncouth garments of all sizes and colors. Hats, brimless, or with brims very much turned up or very much turned down, two flaming red turbans, and a round handleless basket, through the open wicker-work of which the hair of the wearer straggled in the most outlandish and porcupinish manner, constituted their head-gear. The leader carried a gun. The others were armed with hatchets, knives, and clubs. All their faces were hidden by paper masks painted in various colors. "This is the house," said one of them, in a voice that seemed to come out of the ground beneath his feet, as they ranged themselves on the front porch, and he rapped sharply on the door with the stick he carried. It opened, and there stood Lady Harriet, gazing out with horror-stricken eyes upon the motley gang. "Your money or your life!" demanded he of the gun, at the same time pointing the weapon at the trembling boy. Lady Harriet turned pale, and shrank back. "I have no money," he said, in a faltering voice. "Then we must have your life," was the gruff reply, "unless you consent to become one of us. Seize him and search him!" "_Do_ go away, and leave me alone," implored the boy, falling upon his knees and clasping his hands. "There is no use--making me--join your gang," he continued, with chattering teeth. "I--couldn't be a--a--what you are--to save--my life." But the young desperadoes paid no attention to his entreaties, and while two of their number rifled his pockets, the others, lighting a couple of lanterns they had brought with them, followed their leader on a tramp through the house, with much noise and deep growling. On the return of the latter, the pocket-searchers presented the captain with half a stick of peppermint candy, a penknife, a dime, a small book (_The Language of Flowers_), and some violets wrapped in a handkerchief. "Prisoner," said the captain, sternly--that is, as sternly as the pebble he had under his tongue would allow--"if you make an attempt to escape, the consequences be on your own head. Right about face! March!" And away they went, dragging poor Lady Harriet, begging and imploring to be set free, with them. "Did you ever see any fellow so scared in all your life?" whispered Charley Bennet to Hen Rowe, as their victim began to cry and scream. "Never," said Rowe. "I begin to feel sorry for him. But what a baby he is! Why don't he break and run? He can make good time with those long legs when he's a mind to." "Halt!" cried the captain, when they reached the cedar woods. "This has gone quite far enough. We want no cowards among us. Boy, you are--" And the mouths of his followers simultaneously opened for a tremendous shout, when--