“Nothing. I was thinking of Uncle John’s money,” she answered.
“Has he got money?” cried Joe. “I thought 16 he was poor, and you took care of him because you were so good!”
Not one word that Joe uttered did the little woman hear. She was already by Uncle John’s side and asking him for the key to his strong box.
Uncle John’s rheumatism was terribly exasperating. “No, I won’t give it to you!” he cried, “and nobody shall have it as long as I am above ground.”
“Then the soldiers will carry it off,” she said.
“Let ’em!” was his reply, grasping his staff firmly with both hands and gleaming defiance out of his wide, pale eyes. “You won’t get the key, even if they do.”
At this instant, a voice at the doorway shouted the words, “Hide, hide away somewhere, Mother Moulton, for the Red Coats are in sight this minute!”
She heard the warning, and giving one glance at Uncle John, which look was answered by another “No, you won’t have it,” she grasped Joe Devins by the collar of his jacket and thrust him before her up the staircase so quickly that the boy had no chance to speak, until she released her hold, on the second floor, at the entrance to Uncle John’s room.
The idea of being taken a prisoner in such a manner, and by a woman, too, was too much for the lad’s endurance. “Let me go!” he cried, the instant he could recover his breath. “I won’t hide away in your garret, like a woman, I won’t. 17 I want to see the militia and the minute men fight the troops, I do.”
“Help me first, Joe. Here, quick now! Let’s get this box out and up garret. We’ll hide it under the corn and it’ll be safe,” she coaxed.