“I’ve not seen them; but of course they came in boats. Hist!”
There was no need for the warning, for all held their breath and listened to a low, scratching, tearing noise suggestive of some tool being used to break open a door.
“They’re at the big side-entry,” said Stanley’s father.
“No; it’s the little office door, I’m sure,” said the gentleman whom Stanley’s father addressed as Jeff. “Now then, what shall we do? Go down and fire through the door, or give them a dose out of one of these windows?”
“It all comes of building a place so far from help,” said Stanley’s father, ignoring his brother’s question.
“Don’t grumble, man,” was the reply. “Why, in another year we shall be quite shut in.”
“Will that save us now?” said Stanley’s father bitterly.
“No, Noll, old fellow,” said his brother cheerfully. “We shall have to save ourselves this time—independently.—Like fighting, Stan?” he continued, turning to the boy.
“No, uncle; hate it,” said the lad laconically.
“Ha! I dare say this is not the only time you will be called upon to do things you don’t like.—Now, now, what is it to be—downstairs, and a few shots through the panels?”