Most of the fields were enclosed in stone fences, and the great barns and well-built houses indicated prosperous farmers.
He and Dalton rode up to one of these houses, and, finding every door and window closed, knocked on the front door with a pistol butt.
They knew it was occupied, as they had seen smoke coming from the chimney.
"This house surely belongs to a Dutchman," said Dalton, meaning one of those Pennsylvanians of German descent who had settled in the rich southeast of Pennsylvania generations ago.
"I fear they don't know how to talk English," said Harry.
"They can if they have to.

Hit that door several times more, Harry, and hit it hard.

They're a thrifty people, and they wouldn't like to see a good door destroyed." Harry beat a resounding tattoo until the door was suddenly thrown open and the short figure of a man of middle years, chin-whiskered and gray, but holding an old-fashioned musket in his hands, confronted them.
"Put down that gun, Herr Schneider! Put it down at once!" said Dalton, who had already levelled his pistol.
The man was evidently no coward, but when he looked into Dalton's eye, he put the musket on the floor.
Harry, still sitting on his horse--they had ridden directly up to the front door--saw a stalwart woman and several children hovering in the dusk of the room behind the man.

He watched the whole group, but he left the examination to Dalton.
"I want you to tell me, Herr Schneider, the location of the Army of the Potomac, down to the last gun and man, and what are the intentions of General Meade," said Dalton.
The man shook his head and said, "Nein." "Nine!" said Dalton indignantly.

"General Meade has more than nine men with him! Come, out with the story! All those tales about the rebels coming to burn and destroy are just tales, and nothing more.