My father loaded the old gun, now our chief hope, with care; he picked the flint, examined the priming, looked at his stock of powder and ball; and now, as if everything was prepared, sat down. I remember how he looked, when he now turned round and viewed my mother and us children. I remember how she looked too. My father’s lips trembled, and his eyes seemed to grow dim, for he lifted his hand and brushed it across his brow; but in a moment he looked again at his priming, glanced at old Tiger, and fixed his eye on the door and sat still. His face now became as stern as marble. My mother sat on a bench in one corner, and we children behind her upon the floor. By her side was an axe. She was very pale, and her eye turned often, first on father and then up to Heaven. Once in a while, she looked round on us, and especially upon little Harry, with a long gaze, as if it might be her last, and then a kind of shudder came over her. I think my mother was a very beautiful woman, for never in any dream has anything so like an angel visited my fancy, as my faint remembrances of my mother in that fearful hour. Her eyes were blue, her hair light, and her whole appearance soft and gentle. Never did she seem so gentle as when she looked around on us; yet, as she gazed on the axe at her side, and stole a glance around upon the defences of our little fort, her look changed, and she had the aspect of a hero. We sat for more than an hour in breathless silence. Every ear was stretched to catch the slightest sound, until the effort became painful. At last, Tiger lifted his head and uttered a low growl. In an instant after, he sprang to his feet, his eye glittering like fire, every muscle of his body being stretched for action. My father looked through a crevice he had left for observation. It was a clear moonlight night, and soon he saw four dusky figures gliding through the edge of the adjacent forest. He turned to mother, and said, in a firm tone, “They are coming!” She reached for the axe; I saw her fingers tremble as she grasped it. Dick, with a stout club, moved forward and stood by my father. He was a noble fellow; black-eyed, black-haired, and daring as a wild-cat. His look gave tone and courage to us all. He was stout for his years, and as he turned round to look at the group in the corner, there was something in his manner which seemed to say,――“You shall have a brave defence!”