For one thing, this inhuman treatment of the damsels seemed rather foreign to Auntie Merrill's character, as I knew it. It was true she had spoken to me with severity on one occasion,--something about running across her new grass plot, and she had warned me against throwing stones at the statue of George Washington near her house. The latter warning had been totally unnecessary,--I had never dreamed of doing such a thing. I never had, that is, until she put the idea into my head,--after that it appealed to me with the fearful fascination of a deadly crime. I was somewhat afraid of her, but it was nevertheless hard to think of her keeping these unfortunate creatures chained up and starving. Moreover, to make an open attack upon her house by force of arms (Peter had served out wooden revolvers to us, and had a sword for himself) was a serious business. It struck me that we might get involved with the police. In the first place, the attack carried with it the possible necessity of an assault and battery upon Mrs. Muldoon, a perfectly respectable and very muscular washerwoman. Then, supposing that we had overcome that difficulty, there was the house to enter. Who could say that the doors might not be locked? Finally, there were these mysterious and terrible "murmidons." No one, not even Peter, seemed to be able to say exactly what they were, or tell at what moment we might be confronted by them. Altogether, I have seldom engaged in any military enterprise where the obstacles seemed so overwhelming, and the chances of success so slight. But Peter would hear of no objections. If we did not wish to embroil ourselves with Mrs. Muldoon, it would be a simple matter to keep behind the hedge until we were between her and the house. Then it would be too late for her to make any effective resistance. As for the locked doors,--beat 'em down! He would take care of the "murmidons" himself,--leave them to him. We were quite willing to do so. But even at this last moment, when our general thought he had arranged everything, and as he was about to issue his orders once more to Colonel Currier, there came a hitch. "Well, say, look here. What are we goin' to do with these damsels when we get 'em?" It was still Mason, the unconvinced, who spoke. "Don't be such a jay! We'll send 'em home, of course!" "Where do they live?" Peter fairly danced with rage. "How do I know where they live? We can ask 'em, can't we?" "I s'pose we can. But how are you goin' to get their chains off? You said they were chained to the rock." The general had to assume more responsibility for himself. "I'll get 'em off all right. Now, I do wish you'd go ahead an' start, an' shut up your talkin'. Rob, you whistle as soon as you get back of the quince bush, an' we'll come right over the fence here, an' both regiments must charge up to the house at the same time. But don't start till I give the order to charge."