We looked out to ascertain the cause of the disturbance, and saw that the house was surrounded by a party of men.

Mother had become accustomed to such occurrences, and on this occasion she seemed to be master of the situation from the start.

Opening a window, she coolly sang out, in a firm tone of voice: "Who are you?
What do you want here ?" "We are after that old abolition husband of yours," was the answer from one of the crowd.
"He is not in this house, and has not been here for a long time," said my mother.
"That's a lie! We know he is in the house, and we are bound to have him," said the spokesman of the party.
I afterwards learned they had mistaken the herder, who had ridden home with me, for my father for whom they had been watching.
"My husband is not at home," emphatically repeated my heroic mother--for if there ever was a heroine she certainly was one--"but the house is full of armed men," continued she, "and I'll give you just two minutes to get out of the yard; if you are not out by the end of that time I shall order them to fire on you." She withdrew from the window for a few moments and hurriedly instructed the herder to call aloud certain names--any that he might think of--just as if the house was full of men to whom he was giving orders.

He followed her directions to the very letter.

He could not have done it any better had he rehearsed the act a dozen times.
The party outside heard him, as it was intended they should, and they supposed that my mother really had quite a force at her command.