Oonah still expressed her fear of remaining in the cabin.
“Then hide in the pratee-trench, behind the house.”
“That's better,” said Oonah.
“And now I must be going,” said Nance; “for they must not see me when they come.”
“Oh, don't leave me, Nance dear,” cried Oonah, “for I'm sure I'll faint with the fright when I hear them coming, if some one is not with me.”
Nance yielded to Oonah's fears and entreaties, and with many a blessing and boundless thanks for the beggar-woman's kindness, Oonah led the way to the little potato garden at the back of the house, and there the women squatted themselves in one of the trenches and awaited the impending event.
It was not long in arriving. The tramp of approaching horses at a sharp pace rang through the stillness of the night, and the women, crouching flat beneath the overspreading branches of the potato tops, lay breathless in the bottom of the trench, as the riders came up to the widow's cottage and entered. There they found the widow and her pseudo niece sitting at the fire; and three drunken vagabonds, for the fourth was holding the horses outside, cut some fantastic capers round the cabin, and making a mock obeisance to the widow, the spokesman addressed her with—