“It went sort of hard with me, dearie. I heard it all, you see, though I wa’n’t in it, Johnny having put me under the floor at the first yell--always taking such care of his mother, that boy! I heard poor Annie shrieking as they killed the other children--she was always sort of pore-sperrited; I heard your father strugglin’ and cussin’ every foot of the way as they drug him out to the bonfire in the yard--a very cussin’ man was John, and he wanted to make them mad enough to kill him and be done with it. But they wouldn’t. And then, at the last, I heard him singing.” * * * * * The old woman was trembling violently, and Polly stared at her. “_Singing?_” she repeated. “Ay, can’t you remember? Can’t you remember even that? I’d like you to remember that! But maybe they’d carried you out of hearing. I couldn’t stand it any more, I had to see what they were doing to my boy. So I crept along under the floor till I found a chink in the logs I could peep out of. They had him marching round and round a stake, with the fire licking at him already; and this was the song he sang”--Granny’s face was lifted, with eyes closed, like some old sibyl’s, and she raised a quavering voice to the tune of “Wearing of the Green”-- “Oh, you who are in hiding, Lie low just where you be, And don’t you stir or whisper No matter what befalls.” “He was warning me, you see,” she whispered. “Still taking care of his mammy; and him with the flames licking his body, and them he loved lying dead at his feet----” Her voice died away, and Polly reached up a hand to stroke her cheek, her breast. “My father,” she murmured proudly, “that was my father! But”--quickly--“Gray Eagle was not there, he was not chief then. He never tortures--only kills,” she added quickly. “Killin’s bad enough,” said Granny grimly, “when it happens to them you love. Wait and see!” She paused suddenly, her face tense. “Queer, to hear turkeys gobbling in the corn this time of year. I must have imagined it, talking about Indians. They used to make sounds like that; or like whippoorwills--” At that moment the note of a whippoorwill sounded, distinct and clear. Granny pulled herself together, with a short laugh. * * * * * “I declare I’m getting as timid and notional as town folks, scaring myself with my own tales! Well, Polly, I started to tell you why I’ve come out again to the sort of place I never expected to see more. ’Twa’n’t to help you when the baby borned--plenty of neighbor women to do that, nowadays. ’Twas because--I didn’t like what I was hearin’ about my granddaughter, Johnny’s girl. It didn’t seem to me you was doin’ us credit. Always mopin’ and pindlin’ around, humoring yourself! “Why, Polly, my child, don’t you know ’tis a wife’s first duty to go cheerful about her house, even if she don’t feel to be cheerful inside? And why you shouldn’t feel to be cheerful beats me!”