Gran’s eyes snapped and her face hardened. “’Pon my soul, no stranger is going to catch me hiding under a table, cannon or no cannon—nor my granddaughters, either. Kitty, go and see what’s wanted.”
She got to her feet and smoothed her apron. Sally Rose followed her and stood still, her eyes wide with fright, her lips trembling. Kitty went to open the door.
A gnarled old man stood there, holding a wooden bucket in each hand. He pointed to the tavern sign and then opened his mouth in a toothless grin.
“Lass,” he inquired, “are ye doing business today?”
“Yes,” said Kitty steadily. “I guess we are.”
“Good. Will ye fill these pails with water for me. The lads has need of it on the Hill.”
“Come in,” said Kitty. She took the two pails through the kitchen to the garden well. When she returned with them, there were half a dozen other men waiting, and they wanted water, too.
The guns began again with a new fury. Gran and Sally Rose had stepped into the garden, and when Kitty returned there after the men had gone, she found them staring up the hill.
A small, square earthworks stood on the green crest that had been bare at twilight. Small figures of men were working all around it, digging up turf, building it higher, stringing a wooden fence in front. Other men passed to and fro over Bunker Hill and the highroad that led to the Neck. Every now and then a column of dust shot skyward as a cannon ball plowed into the earth. But the men who were busy about the earthworks paid no attention to the cannon balls.
Now and then there would be a moment’s pause in the firing, and that gave Gran and the girls a chance to speak to one another.