But when they started up the stairs I had a new feeling.
I knew they were bound to get poor Charlie if he had not melted and run away,
-- no, he would never have run away; I mean evaporated, --
and I suddenly ran up the stairway a few steps before them, and,
hauling out my big pistol, pointed it at them, and told them
that if they came one step higher I would certainly pull the trigger.
I could not say I would shoot, for it was not loaded. Well, do you know,
they stopped! They stopped dead still. I declare I was so afraid
the old pistol would go off, though, of course, I knew it was not loaded,
that I was just quaking. But as soon as they stopped, I began to attack.
I remembered my old grandmother and her scissors, and, like General Jackson,
I followed up my advantage. I descended the steps, brandishing my pistol
with both hands, and abusing them with all my might. I was so afraid
they might ask if it was loaded. But they really thought
I would shoot them (you know men have not liked to be slain by a woman
since the time of Abimelech), and they actually ran down the steps,
with me after them, and I got them all out of the house.
Then I locked the door and barred it, and ran up-stairs
and had such a cry over Charlie. [That was like an old maid.
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