"There are but two women here, gentlemen," she began steadily--"my
grandmother and I. The house is at your mercy--"
The man in front gave a short laugh and advanced on the girl. He stopped
short in his tracks at the sight of the glitter of her eye and changed
his mind.
"All right, look out for the old hen. We'll let you know when it's time
to pick up the pieces."
Jennie returned to the library and slipped her arm about her
grandmother's neck standing beside her chair while she set her little
jaw firmly and waited for the end.
They rushed the dining-room first and split its side-board open with
axes--fine old carved mahogany pieces so hardened with age, the ax
blades chipped from the blows as if striking marble. The china was
smashed chests were laid open with axes, and their contents of silver
removed.
They rushed the parlors and stripped them of every ornament. Jennie's
piano they dragged into the center of the floor, smashed its ivory keys
and split its rosewood case into splinters. An officer slashed the
portrait of Mrs. Barton into shreds and hurled the frame on the floor.
Every portrait on the walls shared a similar fate.
Upstairs the fun grew wild. Mrs. Barton's beautiful old mahogany armoir
whose single door was a fine French mirror was shivered with a blow from
a sledge hammer, emptied of every article and the shelves splintered
with axes.
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