They had at once recovered their courage in the presence of their mother. She seemed to them, as she braved the intruders, the grandest person they had ever seen. Her face was white, but her eyes were like coals of fire. They were very glad she had never looked or talked so to them.
When they got outdoors the yard was full of soldiers. They were upon the porches, in the entry, and in the house. The smoke-house was open and so were the doors of all the other outhouses, and now and then a man passed, carrying some article which the boys recognized.
In a little while the soldiers had taken everything they could carry conveniently, and even things which must have caused them some inconvenience. They had secured all the bacon that had been left in the smoke-house, as well as all other eatables they could find. It was a queer sight, to see the fellows sitting on their horses with a ham or a pair of fowls tied to one side of the saddle and an engraving or a package of books, or some ornament, to the other.
A new party of men had by this time come up from the direction of the stables.
"Old man, come here!" called some of them to Balla, who was standing near expostulating with the men who were about the fire.
"Who?—me?" asked Balla.
"B'ain't you the carriage driver?"
"Ain't I the keridge driver?"
"Yes, you; we know you are, so you need not be lying about it."
"Hi! yes; I the keridge driver. Who say I ain't?"