Descending to the depths of the pump-stand once more, she stood there, wondering if she were out of the range of bullets; then, remembering old Dot, she anxiously reascended the steps. The red-coats were nearer now. Sally's calm was not increased by seeing John Alling creep forth from his house and secrete himself in a position, musket in hand, grim of face, visible to her but not visible to the approaching British infantry. So there was death to be dealt that day!
Sally watched Major Alling with fascinated eyes. She almost forgot the enemy behind her as she stared at him. How white was his face, how steady the sunburned hands as he raised his musket slowly to his shoulder. But now there was a flash, a bang, a cry! Sally whirled around in time to see one of the red-coats down the street throw up his hands, stagger, and fall.
Instantly, then, the air seemed to be full of whistling bullets. Sally, standing rooted to her place upon the steps above the pump, saw John Alling leave his position and boldly escape to the orchard behind the house.
Suddenly a voice shouted above the tumult of cries and shots: "Run, John!"
It was an aged man seated in an upper window of the Alling house. Sally recognized John Alling's grandfather. Now the enemy had reached the town center and a red-coat, looking inquiringly
