"Next morning the brow of the farmer wore an ominous frown, and
his wife, as she distributed to each the scant measure of brown
bread and milk remarked, grudgingly, that she should think 'twas
'bout time that her house was cleared of a crowd o' hungry,
squallin' young ones; and then Mr. Gubtil took out his
account-book and wrote down the name of each child, with an
estimate of the amount of bread, milk and potatoes consumed by
each. He did this with the audible remark that 'if folks thought
he was a-feedin' an' a-housin' their young ones for nothin'
they'd find themselves mightily mistaken.'
"The third morning dragged slowly away. Dinner was over and
still no message for us forlorn little ones. At last Aunt Polly
slowly arose from her seat upon the doorstep, with the light of a
strong, courageous resolve on her little face.
"Children!' she called loudly, and after we had gathered at her
call, she spoke to us with an encouraging smile:
" 'I've made up my mind that 'twon't be best for us to stay here
another night. We're in the way, and the little ones would be
better off at home with their mothers. We know that the fightin'
is all over, and I don't believe the English soldiers'll be bad
enough to hurt a lot o' little helpless children, 'specially if
they're under a flag o' truce.'
"Here she drew a handkerchif from her pocket. This she fastened
carefully to a stick. Then putting it into the hands of my
brother Ben, a well-grown lad of twelve, she went on with her
directions:
" 'We'll form in procession, just as we came, and you, Benjie,
may march at the head with this white flag a-wavin' to let them
know that we come in peace.
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