The wind outside whistled shrilly at the windows, rattling the shutters, and trying its force in explosive blasts which seemed to rock the house on its stone foundations. Once or twice it shook the veranda door with such violence that the folk at the table instinctively lifted their heads, thinking some one was there. Then, all at once, above the confusion of the storm’s noises, we heard a voice rise, high and clear, crying: “_Smoke the damned Copperhead out!_” CHAPTER X--THE FIRE “That was Roselle Upman that hollered,” remarked Janey Wilcox, breaking the agitated silence which had fallen upon the supper table. “You can tell it’s him because he’s had all his front teeth pulled out.” “I wasn’t born in the woods to be skeert by an owl!” replied Abner, with a great show of tranquillity, helping himself to another slice of bread. “Miss, you ain’t half makin’ out a supper!” But this bravado could not maintain itself. In another minute there came a loud chorus of angry yells, heightened at its finish by two or three pistol-shots. Then Abner pushed back his chair and rose slowly to his feet, and the rest sprang up all around the table. “Hurley,” said the farmer, speaking as deliberately as he knew how, doubtless with the idea of reassuring the others, “you go out into the kitchen with the women-folks, an’ bar the woodshed door, an’ bring in the axe with you to stan’ guard over the kitchen door. I’ll look out for this part o’ the house myself.” “I want to stay in here with you, Abner,” said M’rye. “No, you go out with the others!” commanded the master with firmness, and so they all filed out with no hint whatever of me. The shadow of the lamp-shade had cut me off altogether from their thoughts. Perhaps it is not surprising that my recollections of what now ensued should lack definiteness and sequence. The truth is, that my terror at my own predicament, sitting there with no covering for my feet and calves but the burdock leaves and that absurd shawl, swamped everything else in my mind. Still, I do remember some of it. Abner strode across to the bookcase and took up the gun, his big thumb resting determinedly on the hammers. Then he marched to the door, threw it wide open, and planted himself on the threshold, looking out into the darkness. “What’s your business here, whoever you are?” he called out, in deep defiant tones. “We’ve come to take you an’ Paddy out for a little ride on a rail!” answered the same shrill, mocking voice we had heard at first. Then others took up the hostile chorus. “We’ve got some pitch a-heatin’ round in the backyard!” “You won’t catch cold; there’s plenty o’ feathers!” “Tell the Irishman here’s some more ears for him to chaw on!” “Come out an’ take your Copperhead medicine!”