household valuables. At last Squire Condit, who was checking over the valuables, raised his hand abruptly.
"Not the warming pan, Charity," he said unsmilingly. "What use would that be in the mountains? And, Mary"—he turned to his wife—"I am sorry, but we cannot load ourselves with silver and such. We must take only blankets and food for two or three days at least. 'Twill not be safe to return before that."
Mistress Condit, her precious silver candlestick-holders in her arms, stood pondering anxiously.
"Where can they be hidden?" she asked.
"In sooth, I do not know," answe ed the Squire, stooping to pull some blankets hastily into a tight roll. "But we must hurry. Hark, what was that?"
A moment of strained listening, then Mistress Condit relaxed with a wan smile. "'Tis only the wail of the wind. You are nervous, Samuel!"
"Aye, I am nervous! But the raiders, Mary, an they come to-night, will come soon. We must be away before many minutes more. Where can that Amos be with the horses?"
Suddenly Mehitable, who was collecting the family's wearing apparel, spoke excitedly.
"Why not store your things in the cellar-hole. Mother?" And she pointed at the trapdoor in the kitchen floor which led down to the small excavated space beneath that part of the farmhouse.
"The very place!" exclaimed Mistress Condit.
The silver, then their few precious books, and finally the feather beds, to hide the first-mentioned articles
