“Donald, someone’s at the door. Hurry and answer it.” Aunt Martha’s voice sounded from her nephew’s room up-stairs, which she was sweeping.

Knock, knock—knock!

“He’s pretty anxious to make us hear,” said Don as he crossed the floor of the living-room.

Knock!

Don opened the door and looked full into the face of a red-haired, red-coated British sergeant-major, who at once inserted his foot and pushed his way inside the room. “Who lives here besides yourself, young sire?” he demanded.

Don stared at him and thought he had never seen such an ugly-looking fellow. He was big and broad and flabby, and the only thing about him that was not red, it seemed, were his eyes, which were a pale, washed-out blue.

“Don’t stand there and stare!” the sergeant-major bellowed. “Tell me who lives here.”

“My Aunt Martha Hollis and I and my uncle David, who’s with the Continental army just at present,” replied Don.

The soldier snorted and then hurried to face Aunt Martha, who had come down-stairs. “Is that right?” he asked in a surly but milder voice.

“My nephew has told you the truth,” Aunt Martha replied with dignity.

“How many rooms are in the house?”

“The living-room and three rooms up-stairs.”

The sergeant-major produced a piece of paper. “Show me to the rooms up-stairs,” he said and walked toward the stairway.

“Why do you wish to see them?” asked Aunt Martha, somewhat alarmed and bewildered.

The soldier made no reply but mounted the steps. Don followed him closely. After a brief inspection of the rooms they came down, and the soldier wrote something on the slip of paper. “You’ll have two men to billet,” he said. “So you’d better fix up that big room at the front.”

“I’ll do nothing of the sort,” Aunt Martha said indignantly.

The man’s red face became redder than ever; he started to say something, then checked himself and laughed. “Two men,” he repeated and strode toward the door and slammed it behind him.

“O Donald!” cried Aunt Martha. “If your uncle were only here!”

Don clenched his fists. “Two Redcoats to live with us all winter!” he exclaimed. “That’s what it means, Aunt Martha.”

“Oh, dear,” said his aunt and sat down by the window. “Two—two Redcoats to track in mud and dirt and scratch and tear things with their heavy shoes——”

“Now, don’t worry, Aunt Martha,” Don interrupted her. “Maybe it won’t be so bad, having them here. And maybe before long General Washington will have his army ready to drive all of them out of the town.”

Aunt Martha soon recovered her spirits and set about making ready for the two unwelcome guests. “I suppose if they insist on having the big front room, we’ll have to give it to them,” she said. “I don’t see any other way out of it.”

Nevertheless, she spent most of the day in cleaning the spare bedroom, and when Don looked at it that afternoon he could not help smiling. “You’ve made it the best-looking room in the house,” he said. “Maybe they’ll prefer it to the big room.”

“That’s just what I had in mind,” his aunt replied and smiled.

“Oh, say!” exclaimed Don, and his face suddenly became pale. “All that stuff in the cellar—what if they should discover it!”

Aunt Martha shared her nephew’s agitation, and she bit her lips in perplexity. “I haven’t thought of that,” she said. “We’ll just have to run our chances and see that the door is kept locked always.”

“We’d surely find ourselves in hot water if they happened to learn that it’s there,” said Don. “Oh, how I hate ’em all!” he cried impulsively.

The next morning when the two soldiers came with all their equipment Don and his aunt got a surprise that for Don at least was not altogether unpleasant. One of the Redcoats was Private Harry Hawkins!

He nodded and smiled at Don as he and his comrade entered the house and were shown up-stairs.

The man who was with him, a short, dark-haired fellow, stopped at the door of Aunt Martha’s room. “This is it, Hawkins,” he said. “The big room on the front, the sergeant-major said, and a fine room it is. We’re in luck, you and I.”

Hawkins looked at Aunt Martha and, observing the troubled expression in her eyes, said, “Is this the room you want us to occupy?”

“No, it isn’t,” she replied. “That’s my room, and the one across the hall is my nephew’s. Next to his is the room I’d hoped you would occupy—since it seems you’ve got to occupy a room of some sort.”

“That’s the room we’ll have, then,” said Hawkins promptly and carried his equipment into it.

But his companion did not follow him; he stood looking into the big room.

“Come on, Snell,” said Hawkins, laughing. “The other room is plenty big enough. Anyone would think you were six feet, five, instead of five feet, six.”

Grumbling, the fellow turned away reluctantly and entered the room that Aunt Martha had made ready for them.

Both Don and his aunt gave Hawkins a look of thanks and then went down-stairs. For some time they sat in silence and listened to the scuffling of feet on the floor above them. Then Don said in a low voice: “It might have been worse, mightn’t it?”

His aunt nodded. “I suppose it might,” she admitted. “One of them seems a gentlemanly fellow.”

Fortunately, Hawkins and Snell were in the house very little during the daytime. They would rise early and hurry off to eat mess with their company; then they might return for a few minutes only to hurry out to the parade grounds. Usually they were away somewhere during the afternoon and evening. On the whole they were not much bother; it was the mere fact that Aunt Martha had to have them that irritated her most.

Jud’s mother also had suffered. Jud told Don about it one evening at Aunt Martha’s. “We’ve got only one,” he said, “but he’s a sergeant-major—big and fat and red-faced and uglier than a mud fence!”

“With blue eyes and a red nose?” asked Don.

“Yes, little mean eyes that somehow make me think of buttermilk.”

“Probably it’s the sergeant-major who came to us,” said Don.

“Probably it is,” added his aunt dryly. “I don’t see how there could be two men quite so ugly as he.”

“Well, he’s a billeting sergeant,” said Jud, “and his name is Bluster.”

“Huh,” said Don. “He’s well named.”

“Just listen to that wind outside,” said Aunt Martha; “that’s blustery enough too!”

The wind had been blustery and sharp for several days, and almost before the boys realized it winter had set in in dead earnest. And with the cold came increased suffering. Fuel was scarce, and the army had hard work getting it. But they did get it, nevertheless, and the way they went about it added another grievance to the long list that the townsfolk held against them. Buildings were torn down—usually they were the poorest structures, but not always—fences disappeared overnight, and gates that had creaked on their hinges one day were missing the next morning.

In December the town presented its most deplorable aspect. Hostile cannon glowered in position on hill and thoroughfare, and insolent soldiers such as Sergeant-Major Bluster and Private Snell sat about hearthstones where once happy families had been wont to gather. Food as well as fuel was extremely scarce, and prices were so high that more than one person was driven to steal. Faneuil Hall had been turned into a playhouse for the amusement of the Redcoats, and in it the fine spirit of the people, their intense desire for peace and liberty and fair treatment, were turned into ridicule. Even when snow fell and covered the suffering town in a soft white blanket, and few soldiers were on the streets to jostle and mock pedestrians, the guns on Beacon Hill boomed forth as if to remind them that Howe and the King’s troops still held sway.

Hundreds of persons, too poor longer to support themselves, had obtained Howe’s permission to depart in boats to Point Shirley, whence they made their way into the country—homeless, penniless and miserable. But still Aunt Martha’s will would not allow her to yield. “No—no,” she declared more than once, “I’ll not go! The good Lord knows how I long to be with David, but I know that he is being well cared for. Glen gave me his word, and he is a man I’d trust to the ends of the earth.”

Mrs. Lancaster, who happened to be calling, only shook her head.

“Yes, I know you think I’m stubborn,” Don’s aunt continued. “Perhaps I am, but I intend to remain right here in my own home, and that’s an end of it.”

One day in January, Don and Jud went to Aunt Martha with a request that Don be permitted, as Jud said, to “go some place” the following evening.

“Where do you want to go, Don?” she asked.

“Down to Faneuil Hall,” Don said quickly. “There’s something or other going on there, and we’d like to see it.”

“There’ll be music,” added Jud.

“British music,” said Aunt Martha.

“Well, yes, but it may sound all right.”

Aunt Martha frowned.

“Oh, say, Aunt Martha,” exclaimed Don, laughing, “we won’t become Tories—honest. It’s mighty dull here these days, and we want to see what’s going on. It’s all right, isn’t it?”

If Aunt Martha was stubborn she seldom showed it where her nephew was concerned, and this time was no exception to the rule. She yielded to him—whereas the whole force of General Howe only made her the more resolute!

“Good for you, Aunt Martha,” said Jud—he had got into the habit of calling her “aunt,” and she seemed rather pleased with him for doing it.

“I picked up some information to-day,” he added. “Our privateers have been doing some great things on the high seas. They’ve captured hundreds of the King’s vessels.”

“I’ve heard of Captain Manly,” said Aunt Martha.

“Well, there are lots besides Captain Manly,” Jud replied. “And another thing—our men have chosen a flag; it’s called the Union Flag of the Thirteen Stripes—one stripe for each Colony, you see. They raised it the first day of the year.”

“My, my, Judson. Where you and Donald learn all these things is a mystery to me.”

“Well, you see,” replied the resourceful Jud, “if we go to Faneuil Hall to-morrow night we’ll probably learn more, hey, Don?”

But at that moment Snell and Hawkins entered, and the conversation ceased.