"And John," he asked,—"what said our second son?"
"He seemeth most affrighted of all," she replied. "He wept at first, and hid his face in my gown; but he was calm when I came away. Thou knowest, John, that the lad hath not been well since the fever, last fall."
"Aye, true,—poor little Jack!" the father said. And he now wondered what might have happened outside, for there was a ceasing of the uproar.
He listened intently a moment. "Methinks, sweetheart, I'd best go outside and see what this silence doth mean. Thou'lt not be fearful if I leave the house awhile?"
She grew still paler, but only shook her head. Then she asked suddenly, "Where be Parson Legg?"
Husband and wife looked about the room, and then at one another.
"He was here when the firing began," said John, finding it difficult not to smile as he recalled the scene.
"But wherever can he have gone?" persisted Anne.
"Hiding somewhere, I warrant me," was her husband's reply. "He is an arrant—"
His words were drowned by the roar of a blunderbuss, coming apparently from just over their heads, and this was followed a moment later by a wild yell of triumph from outside.