The idea of being taken prisoner in such a manner, and by a
woman, too, was too much for the lad's endurance. "Let me go!"
he cried, the instant he could recover his breath. "I won't hide
away in your garret, like a woman, I won't. I want to see the
militia and the minute men fight the troops, I do."
"Help me first, Joe. Here, quick now; let's get this box out and
up garret. We'll hide it under the corn and it'll be safe," she
coaxed.
The box was under Uncle John's bed.
"What's in the old thing any how?" questioned Joe, pulling with
all his strength at it.
The box, or chest, was painted red, and was bound about by
massive iron bands.
"I've never seen the inside of it," said Mother Moulton. "It
holds the poor old soul's sole treasure, and I DO want to save it
for him if I can."
They had drawn it with much hard endeavor, as far as the garret
stairs, but their united strength failed to lift it. "Heave it,
now!" cried Joe, and lo! it was up two steps. So they turned it
over and over with many a thudding thump; every one of which
thumps Uncle John heard, and believed to be strokes upon the box
itself to burst it asunder, until it was fairly shelved on the
garret floor.
In the very midst of the overturnings, a voice from below had
been heard crying out, "Let my box alone! Don't break it open.
If you do, I'll--I'll--" but, whatever the poor man MEANT to
threaten as a penalty, he could not think of anything half severe
enough to say and so left it uncertain as to the punishment that
might be looked for.
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