"Am I dreaming now, deacon?" demanded his wife, triumphantly. "You're right, wife," said the deacon, turning pale, and trembling. "It's an awful situation. What shall we do?" "Do? Go downstairs, and confront the villains!" returned his wife, energetically. "They might shoot me," said her husband, panic-stricken. "They're--they're said to be very desperate fellows." "Are you a man, and won't defend your property?" exclaimed his wife, taunting him, "Do you want me to go down?" "Perhaps you'd better," said the deacon, accepting the suggestion with alacrity. "What!" shrieked Mrs. Hopkins. "You are willing they should shoot me?" "They wouldn't shoot a woman," said the deacon. But his wife was not appeased. Just then the unlucky Sam trod on the tail of the cat, who was quietly asleep on the hearth. With the instinct of self-defence, she scratched his leg, which was undefended by the customary clothing, and our hero, who did not feel at all heroic in the dark, not knowing what had got hold of him, roared with pain and fright. "This is terrible!" gasped the deacon. "Martha, is the door locked?" "No." "Then I'll get up and lock it. O Lord, what will become of us?" Sam was now ascending the stairs, and, though he tried to walk softly, the stairs creaked beneath his weight. "They're comin' upstairs," exclaimed Mrs. Hopkins. "Lock the door quick, deacon, or we shall be murdered in our bed." The deacon reached the door in less time than he would have accomplished the same feat in the daytime, and hurriedly locked it. "It's locked, Martha," he said, "but they may break it down." "Or fire through the door--" "Let's hide under the bed," suggested the heroic deacon. "Don't speak so loud. They'll hear. I wish it was mornin'." The deacon stood at the door listening, and made a discovery. "They're goin up into the garret," he announced. "That's strange--" "What do they want up there, I wonder?" "They can't think we've got anything valuable up there." "Deacon," burst out Mrs. Hopkins, with a sudden idea, "I believe we've been fooled." "Fooled! What do you mean?" "I believe it isn't robbers." "Not robbers? Why, you told me it was," said her husband, bewildered. "_I believe it's that boy._" "What,--Sam?" "Yes." "What would he want downstairs?" "I don't know, but it's him, I'll be bound. Light the lamp, deacon, and go up and see." "But it might be robbers," objected the deacon, in alarm. "They might get hold of me, and kill me." "I didn't think you were such a coward, _Mr._ Hopkins," said his wife, contemptuously. When she indulged in severe sarcasm, she was accustomed to omit her husband's title. "I aint a coward, but I don't want to risk my life. It's a clear flyin' in the face of Providence. You'd ought to see that it is, Martha," said the deacon, reproachfully. "I don't see it. I see that you are frightened, that's what I see. Light the lamp, and I'll go up myself."