“You girls take this down to the graveyard and bury it,” she ordered. “If the British come pouring in here tomorrow morning, looking for what they can find, new-turned earth in a graveyard will occasion no comment.” Across the lid of the basket she laid a wooden shovel. Carrying the basket between them, the girls picked their way through the town in the warm, dim starlight. Here and there they passed by little groups of men who seemed to be patrolling the streets, who looked at them curiously but uttered no challenge. Lights were burning across the river in Boston and on the masts of the _Somerset_ lying at anchor in mid-channel. Cries of “All’s Well!” sounded faintly at intervals from its decks and from the sentries in the town beyond it. There were no lights or sentries apparent on Bunker Hill, nor yet on Breed’s, when they looked that way, but both hillsides seemed to be alive with moving masses of shadow; a low hum rose above them like the swarming of many hives of bees. Now and then there was a tiny flash of light, or a clang as a shovel hit against stone. Kitty dug a shallow pit under the flowering quince tree where she had talked with Gerry Malory, and Sally Rose helped to cover it over, once the silver and her own treasures lay safe inside. Then they hurried back to the Bay and Beagle. Gran was trotting about the kitchen, setting many pans of bread to rise, pulling down hams from the rafters, heating the bake ovens red hot. “Get to work, girls,” she said as they came in, handing Kitty a carving knife and Sally Rose a wooden spoon. “Can’t tell how many men we may have to feed tomorrow.” When they finished the preparations she considered necessary, they sank down exhausted on benches drawn to the oak table. Kitty noticed that the hands of the tall old clock pointed to a quarter past three. “My soul and body,” said Gran, “I thought I’d learned to do without it, but a cup of tea would certainly taste good to me right now.” Sally Rose smiled and her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “I can get you tea, Gran,” she said. “Father has some hidden away. He says he keeps it for times of need among womenfolk. ’Twas bought long ago before tea-tax time. Put the kettle on, Kitty.” She went flying into the taproom to the secret cache behind the bar. A little later they sat down again with steaming cups before them. But Gran’s face was sober, and she spoke more gently than was her wont to do. “I hope that whatever happens tomorrow,” she said, holding her teacup in her hand, not tasting the fragrant liquid, “you girls will behave in a fitting manner, though it may not be easy. There is bound to be much danger about in a battle, and many horrible sights to be seen. When the soldiers came here first and warned us to go away, I thought I would do as they advised me. And then I remembered an old great-grandmother of mine. She lived in a lonely garrison and when the Indians attacked her home, she did not run away.”