Two distant sounds, exactly like shots, fell again upon our ears.
“Yes,” cried my father, excitedly, “the fight has begun.”
“Nay, sir, that was only a big ’gator threshing the water up in some corner to kill the fish,” cried Morgan; and he passed up through the ceiling into the roof.
As Morgan went out of sight, and took his place in the narrow loft between the sloping rafters, my father busied himself loading guns, and placing them ready by the openings in the shutters which I had always supposed were for nothing else but to admit the light. And as he worked, Sarah stood ready to hand him powder or bullets, or a fresh weapon, behaving with such calm seriousness, and taking so much interest in the work, that my father said, gravely—
“Hardly a woman’s task this, Sarah.”
“Ah, sir,” she replied, quietly; “it’s a woman’s work to help where she is wanted.”
“Quite right,” said my father. Then, turning to me, he went on, “I am a soldier, George, and all this is still very horrible to me, but I am making all these preparations in what I think is the right and wisest spirit; for if an enemy sees that you are well prepared, he is much less likely to attack you and cause bloodshed. We are safe all together indoors now, and with plenty of protection, so that if our Indian visitors come again, we are more upon equal terms.”
“Do you really think they will come again, father?” I said.
“I’m afraid so. We have been living in too much fancied security, and ready to think there was no danger to apprehend from Indians. Now we have been rudely awakened from our dream.”
“And if they come shall you shoot, father?”