“Who?” cried Lettice, looking up from the flowers she was arranging.
“De redcoats. Dey ships in de ribber; dey is, fo’ sho’. I ain’ tellin’ no sto’y, Miss Letty.”
Lettice knew danger was near, for her brother, who had gone out the night before, had not returned, and she saw that vigorous measures were being adopted for the defence of the city. She thought of Washington and sighed.
“Is yuh skeered, Miss Letty?” asked Danny, who was watching to get his cue from her.
“Not scared, but very anxious. Where is Miss Betty?”
“She puttin’ de baby ter sleep. Miss Marthy, she fussin’ roun’ lak a ole hen.”
“Sh! You mustn’t talk that way,” Lettice chided, in a severe tone. “Aunt Martha,” she said, stepping to the window which looked out upon the porch where she was, “do you suppose it is really true that the British are here?”
“Don’t ask me, child. I am distracted. Ought we to stay or go? I do want to do my duty.”
Lettice smiled. “I don’t see that anything will be gained by going; at least, not yet. I think we are about as safe here as anywhere. Oh, Aunt Martha,” she clasped her hands closely, “we’ll conquer or we’ll die. I am sure this time we must drive them back. We have good defences; Mr. Key told me so last night, and he said, ‘We are in earnest this time; they’ll not find it so easy to get into Baltimore as into Washington.’”
Aunt Martha stood considering the situation.