The rich pine kindled, burnt into vivid flame, throwing its light upon the girl from head to foot, on her smooth hair, black as the night, on the profile of her face, denoting unusual character for a girl of fourteen, and on her primitively fashioned gown of blue checked cotton. The rioting flames, filling the black cavernous depths of the fireplace, lighted up the low room also, throwing grotesque shadows behind the loom and spinning-wheel, lingering round the flaxen heads of the three children asleep on the low trundle bed, glancing over the basket of corn ready to be shelled for the miller, and over the table and simple preparations for supper. Mrs. Cole sat in the corner at one end of the flat stone hearth, smoking and silently brooding. She was a small, sickly looking woman with sunken eyes and sharp, delicate features. She leaned forward with her chin resting in one hand, staring into the fire. A stick of wood burned apart and fell softly to the coals underneath. She started and glanced at Silury. "Is he comin’, Silury?" "Not yet, ma." She refilled her pipe and laid a glowing coal on it, shaking her head slowly. "An’ not likely to till the revenue men have gone away." "Ah, but don’t you know, ma, pa never stays away mor’n two days at a time? Recollect the time he come a-whistlin’ with his gun on his shoulder, an’ the raiders just down on the mill road," said Silury, and laughed at the remembrance of his daring. "Pa ain’t easily scared." "That’s so, an’ I remember that he was mighty hungry, too," murmured her mother, a faint smile, for a moment, lighting up her prematurely wrinkled face. Silury glanced over her shoulder at the oven of potatoes steaming on the hearth, and the frying-pan filled with fresh-cut rashers of bacon ready to place over the fire. Her preparations were all complete. When he came it would take but a few minutes to place a smoking hot supper, such as he loved, before him. "Are the children covered up?" her mother inquired, glancing toward the bed. "These October nights are gettin’ cold." Silury stepped across the room and tucked the cover around the young sleepers. No wonder her face had such a mature look—she moved with such a womanly air—the cares of the household nearly all fell upon her. She was the pride of her father’s heart, her mother depended on her, and the younger children always looked to her to supply their needs. Mrs Cole relapsed into her former attitude, for a few minutes, then suddenly raised her head, a look of fear flashing into her dull eyes. "Silury, it ’pears to me I hear somethin’," she whispered quickly.