As she gave him the basket she was just in time to stop the rejoinder that was issuing from his lips. In time to intercept his return she was at the wood-pile. "Joe," she said, half-abashed before the truth that shone in the boy's eyes, "Joe," she repeated, "you know Major Pitcairn ordered the fire put out, TO PLEASE ME, because I begged him so, and, in return, what CAN I do but give them something to eat. Come and help me." "I won't," responded Joe. "Their hands are red with blood. They've killed two men at the bridge." "Who's killed?" she asked, trembling, but Joe would not tell her. He demanded to know what had been done with Uncle John. "He's quiet enough, up-stairs," she replied, with a sudden spasm of feeling that she HAD neglected Uncle John shamefully; still, with the day, and the fire and everything, how could she help it? but, really, it did seem strange that he made no noise, with a hundred armed men coming and going through the house. At least, that was what Joe thought, and, having deposited the basket of wood on the threshold of the kitchen door, he departed around the corner of the house. Presently he had climbed a pear-tree, dropped from one of its overhanging branches on the lean-to, raised a sash and crept into the window. Slipping off his shoes, heavy with spring-mud, he proceeded to search for Uncle John. He was not in his own room; he was not in the guest-chamber; he was not in any one of the rooms. On the floor, by the window in the hall, looking out upon the green, he found the broken cup and saucer that Martha Moulton had let fall. Having made a second round, in which he investigated every closet and penetrated into the spaces under beds, Joe thought of the garret. Tramp, tramp went the heavy feet on the sanded floors below, drowning every possible sound from above; nevertheless, as the lad opened the door leading into the garret, he whispered cautiously: "Uncle John! Uncle John!" 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."