THE SIEGE OF AUNTIE MERRILL

It was Peter Bailey who organized the siege. We had long ago made up the quarrel that arose on the day of the Indian raid. He still maintained that Ed's and my conduct had been contrary to all rules of warfare, but we noticed that we were not expected, since that day, to impersonate the under dog in every combat.

Peter's reputation for generalship was a little tarnished, and for that reason he got up this grand military movement against the property and person of Auntie Merrill.

That lady had, so Peter said, certain "distressed damsels" closely immured in dungeons beneath her house.

"Distressed what?" asked Ed Mason.

"Damsels," replied Peter.

"What d'ye mean,—girls?"

"Well,—yes."

"I don't want 'em," rejoined the practical Ed; "let 'em stay there."

Peter was exasperated.

"Why, we've got to get them out," he asserted, "or they'll starve to death."

"How'd they get in there?" Ed Mason wished to know.

"What difference does that make? She captured 'em, I s'pose."

I thought I could throw a little light on this dark subject. It was Monday morning, and I had been looking over the fence into the Merrill garden only half an hour before.

"There ain't any distressed damsels there, Peter," I said earnestly; "I saw 'em. One of 'em's Katie Clancy,—an' she lives there all the time, an' the other is Mrs. Muldoon, an' she's hangin' out the wash."

But I was unmercifully snubbed for my pains.

"You make me perfectly tired," he retorted. "I don't mean Katie, nor Mrs. Muldoon. I know them. The—er—damsels are in dungeons below the ground."

I turned to Rob Currier, Jimmy Toppan, and Horace Winslow, who had come into the Masons' back yard with Peter. But they had been under the influence of Peter's warlike mind and persuasive tongue for an hour or more. They seemed to believe in the damsels, and their confidence tended to shake my doubts.

Ed Mason was not so easily moved from scepticism.

"What are they doin' there?" he inquired.

"Doin'? They ain't doin' anything, you chump! They're chained hand an' foot to the rock. How could they do anything? They're waitin' for us to rescue 'em."

"Why don't they call a p'liceman?"

"'Cos they can't! How could they call so he'd hear through the rock?"

"Did Auntie Merrill put 'em in there?"

"Yes; she did,—or some of her mur-murmurdons."

"Her what?"

Horace Winslow broke into the conversation.

"Don't you know what murmidons are? They're big woolly elephants with long tusks."

"Oh, get out! Auntie Merrill hasn't got any. You think you're stuffin' me, but you ain't!"

Peter seemed to be willing to change the subject, and get on to the main issue.

"We'll divide into two regiments,—I'll take command of one, and Rob of the other. I'll take Horace and Sam, and Rob can take Ed Mason and Jimmy. We'll stay here, an' you can go down into Sam's yard an' climb over the fence, an' go up by the path next the Nortons' house. Then we'll attack the house from two sides at once. Now, go on, Rob."

But this was going altogether too fast for me.

"How'll we get by Mrs. Muldoon? She's out there on the clothes-jack now."

"That'll be all right," Peter assured me; "if she says anything, just knock her down!"

But I could not imagine myself knocking Mrs. Muldoon down under any circumstances. In the first place, she weighed over two hundred pounds.

"An' say," continued Ed Mason, "how are we goin' to attack the house when we get there? What'll we do?"

Even Jimmy Toppan was wavering.

"Where are the murmidons? What'll we do if we meet them?" he asked.

Such questions were quite appropriate. We had long been accustomed to scout on Auntie Merrill, as well as other more formidable persons. We had tracked her up and down her garden many times, peered at her from behind bushes, and observed her from the tops of trees. But Peter, filled with a longing for military glory and daring deeds, was proposing an exploit altogether more hazardous than anything we had ever attempted. Thirsting for conquest, he overlooked all obstacles. He had, however, failed to infect us with his enthusiasm.

For one thing, this inhuman treatment of the damsels seemed rather foreign to Auntie Merrill's character, as I knew it. It was true she had spoken to me with severity on one occasion,—something about running across her new grass plot, and she had warned me against throwing stones at the statue of George Washington near her house. The latter warning had been totally unnecessary,—I had never dreamed of doing such a thing. I never had, that is, until she put the idea into my head,—after that it appealed to me with the fearful fascination of a deadly crime.

I was somewhat afraid of her, but it was nevertheless hard to think of her keeping these unfortunate creatures chained up and starving. Moreover, to make an open attack upon her house by force of arms (Peter had served out wooden revolvers to us, and had a sword for himself) was a serious business. It struck me that we might get involved with the police. In the first place, the attack carried with it the possible necessity of an assault and battery upon Mrs. Muldoon, a perfectly respectable and very muscular washerwoman.

Then, supposing that we had overcome that difficulty, there was the house to enter.

Who could say that the doors might not be locked?

Finally, there were these mysterious and terrible "murmidons." No one, not even Peter, seemed to be able to say exactly what they were, or tell at what moment we might be confronted by them.

Altogether, I have seldom engaged in any military enterprise where the obstacles seemed so overwhelming, and the chances of success so slight.

But Peter would hear of no objections.

If we did not wish to embroil ourselves with Mrs. Muldoon, it would be a simple matter to keep behind the hedge until we were between her and the house. Then it would be too late for her to make any effective resistance.

As for the locked doors,—beat 'em down!

He would take care of the "murmidons" himself,—leave them to him.

We were quite willing to do so.

But even at this last moment, when our general thought he had arranged everything, and as he was about to issue his orders once more to Colonel Currier, there came a hitch.

"Well, say, look here. What are we goin' to do with these damsels when we get 'em?"

It was still Mason, the unconvinced, who spoke.

"Don't be such a jay! We'll send 'em home, of course!"

"Where do they live?"

Peter fairly danced with rage.

"How do I know where they live? We can ask 'em, can't we?"

"I s'pose we can. But how are you goin' to get their chains off? You said they were chained to the rock."

The general had to assume more responsibility for himself.

"I'll get 'em off all right. Now, I do wish you'd go ahead an' start, an' shut up your talkin'. Rob, you whistle as soon as you get back of the quince bush, an' we'll come right over the fence here, an' both regiments must charge up to the house at the same time. But don't start till I give the order to charge."

Rob Currier, Ed, and Jimmy disappeared behind Mr. Hawkins's woodshed. They had scarcely done so when Peter called them back.

"You must be sure to take Auntie Merrill a prisoner," he commanded; "take her alive."

They promised not to let her escape. Then they set out once more. We climbed upon the fence, and watched for them to appear at the foot of the Merrill garden. Soon we saw them crossing my yard in Indian file. Rob mounted the fence, and looked over.

No enemy in sight.

Then all three climbed the fence, crouched behind the hedge, and crept up the path to the quince bush. Rob whistled.

As soon as he heard this signal, Peter ordered us into the hostile territory. We dropped silently over the fence, and lay flat on our stomachs in the grass. Peter raised himself slightly on his arms and gazed at the stronghold.

Mrs. Muldoon had gone into the house for more clothes-pins.

Now was our chance!

Peter rose, waved his sword, and was just opening his mouth to order the charge, when an unexpected thing happened.

Auntie Merrill opened a side door of her house, walked out on the veranda, descended two steps, and proceeded slowly up the side path to the street. She was dressed in black as usual, with a lavender bonnet, and she carried a little parasol. She opened the garden gate, crossed the sidewalk, stepped into a carriage that was standing by the curb, and drove quietly away.

The enemy had escaped.

We had been baffled without having a chance to strike a blow. But there were still the house and the damsels. Ought we not continue on our expedition?

While we were considering this question, Katie Clancy appeared at a basement door, with a broom in her hand.

"Now, thin, clear outer here, ye little divils, or I'll be takin' the broom to ye!"

And she started on a frontal attack.

Peter was over the fence again in two seconds. Horace and I, like well-disciplined troops, did not let him precede us by more than an inch.

In a few moments the detachment under Rob Currier returned to headquarters.

Jimmy Toppan said:—

"Let's go down to Plumbush an' go in swimmin'."

"What's the matter with Four Rocks?" suggested Peter.

"Oh, come on to Plumbush," Jimmy insisted,—"my uncle's goin' to drive down to the farm in the buckboard, an' we can get a ride with him, part way."

The question was put and carried without dissent, and the meeting stood adjourned.