The Britishers are
bad enough, but they ain't heathen savages, an' if the town has
surrendered, as I calc'late it has, the settlers will be treated
like prisoners o' war. There won't be no sculpin' nor burnin' o'
houses--no, dear. And now,' giving me a little reassuring pat,
'you're all tired out, an' ought ter be asleep. I'll make up a
bed on this rug with a cushion under your head, an' my big plaid
shawl over you, an' you'll sleep jest as sound as if you was ter
home in your own trundle-bed.'
"Little Sally shared my rug and shawl, and Aunt Polly, gently
refusing the ungracious civility of the old couple, who had
offered her the use of their spare bedroom, after seeing every
little, tired form made as comfortable as possible with quilts
and blankets from the farmwife's stores, laid herself down upon
the floor beside us, after commending herself and us to the God
she loved and trusted, raised her head and spoke to us once more
in her sweet, hopeful, quavering old tones:
" 'Good night, dears! Go to sleep and don't be a bit afraid. I
shouldn't wonder if your folks come for you in the mornin'.'
"What comfort there was in her words! And even the very little
ones, who had never been away from their mothers a night before
in their lives, stopped their low sobbing and nestled down to
sleep, sure that God and Aunt Polly would let no harm come to
them.
"The next day passed slowly and anxiously for us all. From a
stray traveller Aunt Polly learned that the village was still in
the hands of the British and--what was no little comfort to us
--that no violence had been done to the place or its inhabitants.
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