“What if the minister should see me going off with a parcel of boys!”

“He would say you were a very sensible woman,” said Charlie, and Aunt Stanshy went.

The club admired the rowing of Will Somers as he performed with bare arms and showed a “fearful muscle.”  The boat was a very large one accommodating all-the party, but the oars-man refused to have any help, and progress was slow.  At last the other side of the river was reached in safety.  They walked through a ship-yard, and then, turned into a country road, sweet with wild flowers, nodding on either side.  Beyond this they came to a piece of road, bordered with stiff, stout pines.

“There it is!” said Aunt Stanshy.  “It is that block-house.”

“What! the garrison-house?” inquired Sid.  “Big as that?  I thought they were smaller.”

“The real garrison-house is in the corner, this way, and makes one room on the first floor.  People that came to live in the garrison-house built above it and built beyond it, turning the garrison-house into a single room in a big, old-fashioned building.  Mr. Parlin, may we take a look at the garrison-house?”

“Sartin, sartin.  Step in.  I guess Amanda is there, washin’ the baby; but she’s used to children, and wont mind you more than flies,” said a stout, broad-shouldered farmer, passing through the yard, a hoe resting on his shoulder.  “Let me go with you.”

Amanda, who was washing the baby, and at the same time trying to keep in decent order six other children, gave them a hearty welcome, and showed that she did not mind them more than “flies.”

“Aunt Stanshy, how d’ye do?  Are these all your children?” asked Amanda, laughing.

“Yes,” said Sid; “she is our mother to-day, and we are proud of her.”

The white shields all smiled their approbation of Sid’s ready gallantry.

“And this is the garrison-house?” inquired Will Somers.

“Yes,” replied Mr. Parlin; “we are between its walls, and solid walls, too, they are.  See that feller overhead stickin’ out from the ceilin’.  There is a beam for you, all of oak, too, and it measures eleven inches by thirteen.  Now step outside.  There, boys, in that corner, the clapboards are broken, and you can see what was the original style of the walls.  They were laid in this way:  big, square sticks of oak were laid one upon the other, the ends dovetailed and secured by pins, the cracks being filled with mortar.  You see, no Injun bullet could go through that wall, and there would be little satisfaction in building a fire against it, unless an immense one.”

Will Somers was here striding over the ground, pacing the length of the garrison wall.

“About twenty feet,” he said.

“Yes, twenty feet hits the mark,” replied Mr. Parlin.  “The sticks are a foot wide, and measure six inches through.  It makes a pretty good wall.  Step in and I’ll show you where they went in and out.  There, it was that narrow door over in that side, and that openin’ up there, about two feet square, they say, was the winder, and they used to fire out of it.  At night they fitted a block into it and fastened up the door-way with logs.”