The wind outside whistled shrilly at the windows, rattling the shutters, and trying its force in explosive blasts which seemed to rock the house on its stone foundations. Once or twice it shook the veranda-door with such violence that the folk at the table instinctively lifted their heads, thinking someone was there.
Then, all at once, above the confusion of the storm's noises, we heard a voice rise, high and clear, crying:
“Smoke the damned Copperhead out!”
[CHAPTER X
THE FIRE]
“That was Roselle Upman that hollered,” remarked Janey Wilcox, breaking the agitated silence which had fallen upon the supper table. “You can tell it's him because he's had all his front teeth pulled out.”
“I wasn't born in the woods to be skeert by an owl!” replied Abner, with a great show of tranquillity, helping himself to another slice of bread. “Miss, you ain't half makin' out a supper!”
But this bravado could not maintain itself. In another minute there came a loud chorus of angry yells, heightened at its finish by two or three pistol shots. Then Abner pushed back his chair and rose slowly to his feet, and the rest sprang up all around the table.
“Hurley,” said the farmer, speaking as deliberately as he knew how, doubtless with the idea of reassuring the others, “you go out into the kitchen with the women folks, an' bar the woodshed door, an' bring in the axe with you to stan' guard over the kitchen door. I'll look out for this part o' the house myself.”