138 STORIES OF COLONIAL CHILDREN.

and began to creep, kettles and all, across the
kitchen,

“Him alive! him move!” cried the Indian,
backing away from the window, his eyes star-
ing, his face one picture of fear. “Ugh! ugh!”
and throwing down his gun, he turned and
fled. The maid aimed at him, arid away he
ran across the orchard out of sight.

It was not long before the family
returned. “What is it? What is it?” they
cried, as the maid ran to meet them.

Poor girl! she could hardly tell them her
story ; but there were the little prisoners, and
there was the Indian’s .gun outside the
- window.

“He may yet be on the premises,” said
Mr. Minot, seizing the gun and starting forth
in search.

The Indian was on the premises; but he