Miss Jemima, she wuz havin' er fit with nobody but little Patsy Jane," etc., etc., etc. What really happened was, the Colonel walked calmly out in the hall, urging Miss Jemima to be composed.
"My dear Jemima, do not become agitated. David, you are an old fool. Thomas Battercake, proceed to your usual employment at this time of day, cleaning the knives, or whatever it is. Would you have these Yankee miscreants to think us a body of Bedlamites?"
Just then, down the stairs came running pretty little twelve-year-old Letty, his grand-daughter. Letty seized his veined and nervous hand in her two pink palms, and expressed a willingness to die on the spot for him.
The Colonel marched solemnly out on the porch, and by that time, what seemed to him an army of blue-coats was dashing across the lawn. A lieutenant swung himself off his horse, and, coming up the steps, demanded the keys of the barn, in a brogue that could be cut with a knife.
"No, sir," said the Colonel, firmly, his gray hair moved slightly by the autumn wind, "you may break open my barn-door, but I decline to surrender the keys."
The lieutenant, at that, struck a match
