"You shout for help, and I'll shoot," he cried, backing away, and then with more dexterity than hitherto seemed possible, Tom continued to back with gun still pointed at the Indian, who muttered, "Tom no good, no good!"
Once out of momentary danger, before the Indian could signal to the others, Tom had plunged into the thicket and taken a short cut home. He was again in possession of a gun, and he had met an adventure which must command the respect of the family and prove to his sister his worth as an escort.
THE ESCAPE
"This, my little Dick, is a fine holiday for us," exclaimed Mrs. Waldron as she lifted her baby from his hooded crib. "Your father has promised an outing, and you shall go with us to the farm far up the river. Some day, my little boy, you shall gather the strawberries there yourself, and play in the hay, and hunt for eggs."
As she tossed her baby while she chatted, he seemed to be caught in mid-air by the tall soldierly gentleman who had entered. After a moment of play, Mrs. Waldron turned soberly to her husband.
"Now, Richard, will you use every argument possible to persuade Madam Ursula Cutt to return with us to Portsmouth? The French have so stirred the Indians in the East that it is not safe for her to remain on that remote farm."
"She has insisted," protested Col. Waldron, "that the haying must be done first. Until the crop is safely stored, it will be hard to start her. However, the weather has been warm and dry, so it may even now be done. Our boat is ready, can you go soon?"
It was a wonderful July day in 1694. Mrs. Waldron followed her husband down the garden slope to the sparkling river and had already passed little Dick into his arms while she stepped into the boat. A servant, hurrying over the arbored path, announced—