Some of the older boys were for venturing to return, but Aunt
Polly held them back with her prudent arguments. If their
parents had considered it safe for them to come home they would
have sent for them. The British, she said, had been known to
impress boys, as well as men, into service, and the wisest way
was to keep out of their sight.
"The gentle, motherly advice prevailed, and even Dan Parsons
contented himself with climbing the tallest trees in the
vicinity, from which he could see the chimneys of several of the
nearest houses. From these pinnacles he would call out to us at
intervals:
" 'The smoke comin' out o' Deacon Mileses chimly has a queer
look, somethin' like burnin' feathers I shouldn't wonder a mite
if them Britishers was burnin' up his furnitoor! Sam Kelly's
folks hain't had a spark o' fire in their fireplace to-day. Poor
critters! Mebbe there ain't nobody left ter want one.'
"With these dismal surmises, Dan managed to keep our forlorn
little flock as uncomfortable as even he could wish; and as the
second night drew on, I suppose the homesickness of the smaller
ones must have been pitiful to see. Aunt Polly patted and
cuddled the forlorn little things to the best of her ability, but
it was past midnight before the last weary, sobbing baby was
fairly asleep, while all night long one or another would start up
terrified from some frightful dream, to be soothed into quiet by
the patient motherly tenderness of their wakeful protector.
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