Once out of momentary danger, before the Indian could signal to the others, Tom had plunged into the thicket and taken a short cut home. He was again in possession of a gun, and he had met an adventure which must command the respect of the family and prove to his sister his worth as an escort. THE ESCAPE "This, my little Dick, is a fine holiday for us," exclaimed Mrs. Waldron as she lifted her baby from his hooded crib. "Your father has promised an outing, and you shall go with us to the farm far up the river. Some day, my little boy, you shall gather the strawberries there yourself, and play in the hay, and hunt for eggs." As she tossed her baby while she chatted, he seemed to be caught in mid-air by the tall soldierly gentleman who had entered. After a moment of play, Mrs. Waldron turned soberly to her husband. "Now, Richard, will you use every argument possible to persuade Madam Ursula Cutt to return with us to Portsmouth? The French have so stirred the Indians in the East that it is not safe for her to remain on that remote farm." "She has insisted," protested Col. Waldron, "that the haying must be done first. Until the crop is safely stored, it will be hard to start her. However, the weather has been warm and dry, so it may even now be done. Our boat is ready, can you go soon?" It was a wonderful July day in 1694. Mrs. Waldron followed her husband down the garden slope to the sparkling river and had already passed little Dick into his arms while she stepped into the boat. A servant, hurrying over the arbored path, announced-- "Your friends from the Manor have arrived and are waiting to see you." "Oh, Richard," came in disappointed tones from Mrs. Waldron, "we cannot take our trip. They have come so far we must offer them at least a day's hospitality." Regretfully they turned and cordially received their guests. The plans for entertainment crowded out all thought of the river trip and a day on the farm. The farm two miles up the river belonged to Madam Ursula Cutt. It was a busy place, while the Waldrons were detained at home that July morning. Madam Cutt was over-seeing her household affairs as well as keeping a watchful eye on the hay-makers at work in the field. The maid at the washtub remarked, as her mistress stepped to the door with basket and scissors to gather flowers. "Dover has felt the fury of the Indians. They may yet come down the river!" "It may be well for us to move into town as soon as the haying is done," Madam Cutt replied, and passed on to the garden. The maid rinsed the white linen and lifting a basketful stepped out to spread it on the grass to dry. With the awful fear of Indians still on her mind, she peered through the trees to the river, half expecting to see the dreaded creatures bounding up the bank.