“I seen it all,” she said. “I was a bit up the road, but I seen it. You shouldn't ha' shot, Mr. Gilbert, though it isn't him that's born to be hit with a bullet; but _you_'re safe enough from _his_ bullets, anyhow--whatever happens, _you_'re safe!” “What do you mean, Deborah?” he exclaimed, as she almost repeated to him Sandy Flash's very words. “I mean what I say,” she answered. “_You_ wouldn't be afeard, but it'll be a comfort to your mother. I must have a drink o' whiskey after that sight.” With these words she elbowed her way into the barroom. Most of the Kennett Volunteers were there engaged in carrying out a similar resolution. They would gladly have kept the whole occurrence secret, but that was impossible. It was known all over the country, in three days, and the story of it has not yet died out of the local annals. CHAPTER XIX. THE HUSKING FROLIC. Jake Fairthorn rushed into Dr. Deane's door with a howl of terror. “Cousin Martha! Betsy!” he cried; “he's goin' to shoot Gilbert!” “None o' your tricks, boy!” Betsy Lavender exclaimed, in her most savage tone, as she saw the paleness of Martha's face. “I'm up to 'em. Who'd shoot Gilbert Potter? Not Alf Barton, I'll be bound; he'd be afeard to shoot even Sandy Flash!” “It's Sandy Flash,--he's there! Gilbert shot his hat off!” cried Jake. “The Lord have mercy!” And the next minute Miss Betsy found herself, she scarcely knew how, in the road. Both had heard the shot, but supposed that it was some volunteer discharging an old load from his musket; they knew nothing of Sandy's visit to the Unicorn, and Jake's announcement seemed simply incredible. “O you wicked boy! What'll become o' you?” cried Miss Lavender, as she beheld Gilbert Potter approaching, leading Roger by the bridle. But at the same instant she saw, from the faces of the crowd, that something unusual had happened. While the others instantly surrounded Gilbert, the young volunteer who alone had made any show of fight, told the story to the two ladies. Martha Deane's momentary shock of terror disappeared under the rush of mingled pride and scorn which the narrative called up in her heart. “What a pack of cowards!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing,--“to stand still and see the life of the only man that dares to face a robber at the mercy of the robber's pistol!” Gilbert approached. His face was grave and thoughtful, but his eye brightened as it met hers. No two hands ever conveyed so many and such swift messages as theirs, in the single moment when they touched each other. The other women of the village crowded around, and he was obliged, though with evident reluctance, to relate his share in the event.