And, "What is that sound?" she exclaimed, staring about her; and I had never seen a woman's eyes so brown under such yellow hair.
She stepped out into the fresh grass and stood in the dew listening, now gazing at the woods, now at Martha Bowman, and now upon me.
Speech came to me with an odd sort of anger. I said to Mrs. Bowman, who stood gaping in the sunshine:
"Where are your wits? Take that child into the house and bar your shutters and draw water for your tubs. And keep your door bolted until some of the militia can return from Stoner's."
"Oh, my God," said she, and fell to snatching her wash from the bushes and grass.
At that, the girl Penelope turned and looked at me. And I thought she was badly frightened until she spoke.
"Young soldier," said she, "do you know if Sir John has fled?"
"I know nothing," said I, "and am like to learn less if you women do not instantly go in and bar your house."
"Are the Mohawks out?" she asked.
"Have I not said I do not know?"