All was silent above. Joe went up, and was startled by a groan. He had to stand a few seconds, to let the darkness grow into light, ere he could see; and, when he could discern outlines in the dimness, there was given to him the picture of Uncle John, lying helpless amid and upon the nubbins that had been piled over his strong box. "Why, Uncle John, are you dead?" asked Joe, climbing over to his side. "Is the house afire?" was the response. "House afire? No! The confounded Red Coats up and put it out." "I thought they was going to let me burn to death up here!" groaned Uncle John. "Can I help you up?" and Joe proffered two strong hands, rather black with toil and smoke. "No, no! You can't help me. If the house isn't afire, I'll stand it till the fellows are gone, and then, Joe, you fetch the doctor as quick as you can." "_You_ can't get a doctor for love nor money this night, Uncle John. There's too much work to be done in Lexington and Concord to-night for wounded and dying men; and there'll be more of 'em too afore a single Red Coat sees Boston again. They'll be hunted down every step of the way. They've killed Captain Davis, from Acton." "You don't say so!" "Yes, they have, and--" "I say, Joe Devins, go down and do--do something. There's _my niece_ a-feeding the murderers! I'll disown her. She shan't have a penny of my pounds, she shan't!" Both Joe and Uncle John were compelled to remain in inaction, while below, the weary little woman acted the kind hostess to His Majesty's troops. But now the feast was spent, and the soldiers were summoned to begin their painful march. Assembled on the green, all was ready, when Major Pitcairn, remembering the little woman who had ministered to his wants, returned to the house to say farewell. 'Twas but a step to her door, and but a moment since he had left it, but he found her crying; crying with joy, in the very chair where he had found her at prayers in the morning. "I would like to say good-by," he said; "you've been very kind to me to-day." With a quick dash or two of the dotted white apron (spotless no longer) to her eye, she arose. Major Pitcairn extended his hand, but she folded her own closely together, and said: "I wish you a pleasant journey back to Boston, sir." "Will you not shake hands with me before I go?" "I can feed the enemy of my country, but shake hands with him, _never_!" For the first time that day the little woman's love of country seemed to rise triumphant within her, and drown every impulse to selfishness; or, was it the nearness to safety that she felt? Human conduct is the result of so many motives that it is sometimes impossible to name the compound, although on that occasion Martha Moulton labelled it "Patriotism." "And yet I put out the fire for you," he said. "For your mother's sake, in old England, it was, you remember, sir." "I remember," said Major Pitcairn, with a sigh, as he turned away.