CORNELL
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

Misses Jane and Helen Meyey

 

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Tain
| 3 1924 021 766 252 a

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You may use and print this copy in limited quantity
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THE FAMOUS PEPPER BOOKS
By MARGARET SIDNEY

FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND HOW THEY GREW
Illustrated by HERMANN HEYER 12mo Cloth $1.50

FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS MIDWAY

Illustrated by W. L. TayLor 12mo Cloth $1.50
FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS GROWN UP
Illustrated by L. MENTE 12mo Cloth $1.50

PHRONSIE PEPPER
Illustrated by Jessie McDeRMoTr 12mo Cloth $1.50

THE STORIES POLLY PEPPER TOLD
Illustrated by E. B. Barry and Jessie McDERMOTT
12mo Cloth $1.50

THE ADVENTURES OF JOEL PEPPER
Illustrated by SEARS GALLAGHER 12mo Cloth $1.50

FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS ABROAD
lilustrated by Fanny Cory 12mo Cloth $1.50

FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AT SCHOOL
Illustrated by HERMANN HEYER 12mo Cloth $1.50

FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND THEIR FRIENDS
Illustrated by Eucenie M. WiREMAN 12mo Cloth $1.50

BEN PEPPER
Illustrated by Eucente M. WiREMAN 12mo Cloth $1.50

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO,
BOSTON

 

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DEBBY AT MR. WOOD’S.

“¢My father is a Tory, and a soldier in the British army,’ said Deborah.”
y
See page 325.

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A LittTLe Maip
of Concord Town

 

 

 

A ROMANCE of the AMERICAN
REVOLUTION os ots ate % 1975

 

 

NEW EDITION.

By
MARGARET SIDNEY

AUTHOR OF “THE JUDGES’
CAVE,” § “FIVELITTLE
PEPPERS,” ETC,

Illustrated by
FRANK T. MERRILL

 

 

BOSTON &
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

 

 

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COPYRIGHT, 1898, 19009,
BY
LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY.

- +

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Typography by C.F. Peters & Son, Boston

 

Presswork by Berwick & Smith

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TO

The Citisens of Oly Concord Toton

THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED
BY

THE AUTHOR,

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PREFACE.

OME dozen years or so ago, the author of this
volume planned to write an historic story of Old
Concord, dealing with the months and the years prior
to 1775, to show the natural sequence of events
that gave to the old town her opportunity “to fire
the shot heard round the world,” and made her so
large a factor in shaping the destiny of the Ameri-
can Republic.

It was no mere chance that set apart the Old
North Bridge at Concord as the arena where was
enacted the opening scene of that struggle for inde-
pendence that made the Colonies a free nation. Old
Concord had long been preparing for what God in
his providence was preparing for her; and the bril-
liant episode on the 19th of April, 1775, was but
the natural result of that long and faithful prelimi-
nary work. Marvellous indeed in the eyes turned
backward to that April morning, is the outcome!
In the words of the late President Dwight, “In

3

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4 PREFACE.

other circumstances, the expedition to Concord, and
the interest which ensued, would have been merely
little tales of wonder and of woe, chiefly recited
by the parents of the neighborhood to their circles
at the fireside, commanding a momentary attention
of childhood, and calling forth the tear of sorrow
from the eyes of those who were intimately con-
nected with the sufferers. Now the same events
preface the history of a nation and the beginning
of an empire, and are themes of disquisition and as-
tonishment to the civilized world. From the plains
of Concord will henceforth be dated a change in
human affairs, an alteration in the balance of human
power, and a new direction to the course of human
improvement. Man, from the events which have
occurred here, will, in some respects, assume a new
character, and experience, in some respects, a new
destiny.”

The fact and fiction of the story contained in these
pages can be easily separated in the mind of the
reader, and yet preserve a harmony of action. Deb-
orah Parlin, the Little Maid of Concord Town, is
purely a work of imagination, together with the set-
ting of the picture of the Parlin family in the little
cottage on the Lexington Road, whose last tenant was
Ephriam W. Bull, the originator of the Concord grape.

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PREFACE. 5

Hawthorne’s weird tale, the last that was traced by
his pen, located Septimius Felton and Aunt Keziah in
“the two-story house, gabled before, crowded upon by
the hill beyond,” now known as Wayside; and, in
deference to that exquisitely fanciful creation, they
still wander in and out the pages of this story. Ab-
ner Butterfield and good Mother Butterfield are sum-
moned from the realm of fancy to serve the will of
the author ; and it is unnecessary to add that Jim
Haskins is a figment evolved for like purpose.

Bernard Thornton, the young British officer, belongs
to the like shadowy realm, summoned hence at the
same behest, to bear his part and lot in the events
narrated in these pages.

The picturesque and dramatic episode in the life of
beautiful Meliscent Barrett so attracted the author
these dozen years ago, that she was impelled to use
it as a central force around which to adjust her story.
Tradition and fireside tales are, after all, much of the
warp and woof of our Colonial and Revolutionary
history; such annals inspire and lead, perchance,
swifter to the true spirit of those epochs, than the
labored art of the historian.

The slow building of this volume, from year to year,
often laid aside for less congenial pen-tasks, yet never
out of mind, has weighted the author with a debt of

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6 PREFACE.

gratitude impossible to individually acknowledge or
repay. For numberless courtesies that greatly as-
sisted the development of this book, for valuable in-
formation not to be obtained in the ordinary channels,
or that proved and strengthened that already found,
the author would here tender her most grateful and
appreciative acknowledgment to the citizens of the
old town, who have thus aided her in her arduous but
most congenial task. A list of books on another page
is cited as partial authority for the historic basis of
this volume, which has aimed in every line to be true
to the letter and the spirit of the period of which it
treats,

WAYSIDE,
Concord, Massachusetts, May, 1898.

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CHAPTER
I.
II.
IIT,
Iv.
Vv.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
XxX.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.

CONTENTS.

THE LITTLE Maip . . . . we ee
TORY: GBB) Gh fey gh se Sg oe ce
WITHIN THE LEE MANSION... . .
OnE LITTLE CARTRIDGE . .... .
THE OLD TOWN Is GETTING READY Fast
AACOGRISIS: eo ef es Se
‘©T SHALL GO OVER TO THE SIDE OF THE
WHERE IS DEBBY? . . 2. «6 «© 6 «
AT THE BUTTERFIELD FARM. ... .
AN UNUSUAL CONFERENCE . 2... .
‘*WE ARE WELL MATCHED’?- . . . ©
ABNER ACCOMPLISHES HIS MISSION. .
LEADING EVENTS . . + «© 2 «© « «
IN THE BRITISH COFFEE-HOUSE .. .
PREPARING AN ARENA. . «© 6 «© « ©
‘¢THE SECRET MUST BE DISCLOSED Now’?
RAPID PREPARATIONS

‘¢ CONCORD WILL NEVER BE CONQUERED ”’
7

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PAGE

26
41
55
77

94
109

- 121

135

148
162
179
19g!

202
217°

231

« 242

. 263
8

CHAPTER
XIX.
XX.
XXI,
XXII.
XXIII.
XXIV.
XXV.
XXVI.

CONTENTS.

PAGE
USHERING IN THE YEAR OF LIBERTY . . . . 276
A SEARCH THROUGH BosToN TOWN . . . . . 291
Home To ConcorD TOWN . .... . « . 308
“‘T aM A TRAITOR’s DAUGHTER!” . . . . . 323
“THE REG’LARS ARE COMING!” . . 2. - «4 « 336
SEARCHING FOR THE STORES . . . . . + « 355

THE ‘‘SHOT HEARD ROUND THE WORLD”’. . . 371
WILL SHE BE A GREAT LADY IN THE COLONIES? 386

APPENDIX © 60 6 6 e @ @ Sos Se we ew 403

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A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

THE LITTLE MAID.

EBBY ran up the Ridge as fast as her clumsy
shoes, and the pail of milk with the loaf of
brown bread in a clean towel which she was carrying,
would allow. At last she brought up panting, as she
stumbled to the summit, and paused to take breath.
It was a goodly scene, and one well calculated to
soothe the troubled breast. Below her, some fifty or
more feet, lay the Old Bay Road. Across this winding
thoroughfare was the Town Meadow, through which
ran Mill Brook, purling noisily under Fox Bridge before
it lost itself in its rush across the big open meadow.
Off in the distance, with its guardian slope of hill-
crowned forest, shimmered Walden, whose shining sur-
face had reflected the dusky faces of the first dwellers

in this happy valley before the white men came.
But Debby was far from being at rest in any portion

9

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10 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

of her healthy young body. All her soul was filled
with bitterness. She set down her milk-pail, and de-
posited the loaf of bread upon its cover, and stretched
her arms restfully. “I wish the Reg’lars would come

1?

this blessed minute!” she exclaimed with sudden im-
pulse, blind to the beauty of the scene before her,
“and have done with all this watching and waiting
for them. Let King George do his worst; he will see
what we are made of.”

She sent a swift glance on every hand, as if the
landscape were distorted with redcoats flashing be-
hind every bush, and torturing the morning glow with
their detested brilliancy of coloring. ‘‘ Oh,I hate old
King George!” and she stamped her foot on the pine-
needles.

A crackling in the bushes struck upon her ear.
Debby turned with the swiftness of a young fawn, and
peered in its direction, to meet a sharp pair of eyes
fastened upon her round face, the person to whom
they belonged halting leisurely for that purpose just
within the nearest thicket. It was an old woman of
most unpleasant aspect, of a dark yellow face; and as
her head was tied up in a handkerchief, and her body
bent as if with many grips and twitchings of rheu-
matism, she gave more the appearance of an ancient
witch, than a good New England resident of the old

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THE LITTLE MAID. II

town. And Debby would have given preference to a
meeting with the witch.

“O Miss Keziah!” she exclaimed, as she backed
off, and began to pick up her pail and bread, “how do
you do to-day, and how is Mr. Felton?” for she thought
it incumbent on her to say something pleasant to this
old personage whom, notwithstanding she was her
nearest neighbor, she would never choose to meet in
a wood alone.

Miss Keziah cackled and showed her toothless gums.

“Septimus is well enough,” she said, her voice not
lacking a tone of contempt. “As long as he can sit
with his nose in a book, he will do from day’s in to
day’s out. But well, well, as he is to be a minister,
we must let him be, and thank the Lord it’s no worse.
But hark ye, my pretty, don’t deceive me with your
fine speeches and neighboring ways. I heard what
you said about our good king. Don’t think an old
woman’s ears are heavy. Besides, the birds will tell
it; the birds will tell it.” She waved her long, skinny
hands, much soiled with digging in the ground after
her favorite roots and herbs. “And every leaf will
whisper it.” Here her voice sank to a sepulchral
whisper that sent “the creeps” down Debby’s back.
“Keep your tongue safe locked in your head, child,
where every woman’s should be; for the times are

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12 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

troublous, an’ may the Lord bless us all!” She
advanced with a long step and a hitch out of her
thicket, and laid her skinny hand on Debby’s young
arm.

The young girl trembled under the piercing gaze
from the black eyes. She strove to shake herself
free; but instead she stood still, partly from her fear
of rousing the anger which she felt always smouldered
near the surface of her neighbor’s face, and partly
because a certain fascination, like that holding the
ancient mariner, overcame her against her will.

But if her feet tarried, it was no time to be halting
with her principles; so she burst out, “But I do hate
old King George, Miss Keziah, and I should be a sin-
ful girl not to say the truth. Oh! he’s a bad, wicked
man, I can’t help it if he is a king, torturing us poor
people and starving us, and sending soldiers to fight
us. You know he’s bad; and you ought to hate him
too!” she brought up, her blue eyes blazing.

“Tush, tush, child!” commanded the old woman,
not relinquishing her hold, but gazing warily around
the wood. “Never let a word escape you like that
again. Why, the Reg’lars would burn your house
about your ears, an’ kill you. Oh, lack-a-day!”
Here her old arm dropped powerless to her side.
“An’ that’s to be our fate — all of us, mayhap.”

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THE LITTLE MAID. 13

“No, it isn’t, Miss Keziah,” cried Debby stoutly,
her heart panting under her blue kerchief; “I tell
you we’ll fight ’em to skin and bone.” She clinched
her small brown hands tightly, and her breath came
hard, “And we’ll make those redcoats run. Every
single one in Old Concord will fight, and we’ll show
them we’re not afraid of ’em a bit.”

The old woman hitched back against a tree, and
cackled contemptuously.

“Pretty child,” she exclaimed, in a gust between
her fits of laughter. “Oh, what a paltry thing for
safety we have! You’ll see, when the Reg’ lars really
come! Ah, like an infant in the mother’s arms you
babble and coo of safety, when the skies are red with
blood that is to drop on this path before us like dew
from the wings of the morning;” and she pointed to
the road beneath.

Debby shivered under her homespun gown like an
aspen leaf; but she spoke up stoutly, —

“ And there will be two kinds of blood to run, Miss
Keziah ; and the old Britishers will get the worst of
it.” And here the fire within made her cry out, as
she hastily seized her pail and bread-loaf, “ And I de-
spise people who talk as you do; you’re most as bad
as Tory Lee!”

With this parting shot she skimmed along the pla-

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14 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

teau, across the top of the Ridge, until she struck the
cater-cornered trail that straggled down its western
slope.

Clear across the Great Field she plunged, regardless
of distance and of her burden, until she was over on
the old Bedford Road. Running down a good piece,
she came upon a little red farmhouse, with its lean-to
and its barn all under one roof. Into the kitchen in
the ell she ran on indignant young feet, and set down
the pail and bread-loaf on the pine table.

“Mother sent these,” she said breathlessly.

“Why, Debby!” exclaimed her aunt Sophia, “ what’s
the matter, child? Dear, dear, you are clean tired out!
And how is Sister Ruhama?’’ all in one breath.

“I’m not tired,” said Debby shortly, and pushing
back her sunbonnet from her hot face; “but I’ve had
things said to me that are hard to bear;” withholding
through habit all unpleasant explanations from Aunt
Sophia, whose feeble frame was slowly but surely
succumbing to the dread New England disease, con-
sumption. “Where are the boys?” she asked hastily.

“Had things hard to bear said to you? And what
are they, Debby, child?” cried Aunt Sophia, her thin
lips twitching at the prospect of hearing news, even
if unpleasant.

“Oh, dreadful things!” exclaimed Debby. Then

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THE LITTLE MAID. 15

she stopped abruptly. ‘Where are the boys, aunt?”
she asked again, quickly.

“TY don’t know. Simon went out after bringing in
the wood, and I doubt not that Jabez is with him busy
about something. Sit down an’ rest yourself, Debby,
an’ tell me how things are at home.”

But Debby had rushed from the kitchen, and was
now skirting the old barn and woodshed. There, be-
hind the woodpile, she heard a noise that suggested
“boy;” and she speedily stcod before Simon, whose
sheepish face proclaimed immediately that he had
hidden something behind his back.

“Oh! it’s you, Debby,” he cried in great relief,
bringing it out before him. He was engaged in clean-
ing an old musket, when her footsteps startled him.
“T thought it was mother, an’ I don’t want to scare
her.”

“You're getting ready to fight, Simon,” cried Debby,
with sparkling eyes, all her evil time with Miss Keziah
flown to the winds. She seated herself on a projec-
tion of the woodpile, and cast her sunbonnet away
from her, while she gave all her attention to the im-
plement of warfare in his hand. “Oh, how perfectly
splendid!” she cried.

“Ves, I am,” said Simon with energy, and bobbing
his tow head. ‘An’ I don’t care how soon it comes,

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16 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

either, after I get this old gun ready. And Jabez is
up in the barn-loft cleaning his.”

“Has Jabez got a musket too?” cried Debby.
“Where ad you get ‘em, Simon?” her mouth water-
ing, so to speak, at the sight. “O Simon, if I were
only a boy! Do let me take it in my hand just a
minute,” she pleaded.

?

“Well, you ain’t a boy,” replied Simon, holding
fast to the musket; “an’ you never will be,” he added,
with that matter-of-fact acceptance of the honor with
which men at that period carried their leadership:
Then, scrubbing away for dear life on the gun-stock
with a bit of old flannel, and oblivious to her ques-
tion, “There’s goin’ to be an awful time, Debby;
i’ts a-comin’, sure,” he declared, setting his teeth to-
gether hard.

“T know it,” said Debby, folding her hands in her
lap, ‘‘and that’s what I want to help for. O Simon!
don’t you suppose they'll let us girls do something?”
she gazed at him imploringly.

“Not to fight,” said Simon, straightening up. “Old
Concord won’t be pushed so hard that she’ll let the
women and girls fight. We'll take care of you all,
Debby.”

“IT don’t want to be taken care of,” said Debby
petulantly. “I want to fight the Britishers and old

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THE LITTLE MAID. 17

King George myself. Oh! it’s mean I’m nothing but
a girl.” She fell back on her old plaint.

“There’s to be a town meetin’ to-day, I s’pose you
know, Debby,” said Simon, with the air of imparting
fresh news.

“Don’t I know it,” cried Debby with scorn. To
tell the truth, very little escaped her, a fact which her
cousin well understood.

“Uncle John is goin’ to town meetin’, of course?”

“Of course,” assented Debby; “he was up to Mr.
Wood’s last night talking it all over.”

“It’s time for us to strike if we’re ever goin’ to stand
up for ourselves,” exclaimed Simon with great energy,
bringing the butt of the musket down on the ground
with a crack. Then he brought it up to his shoulder,
and sighted along its barrel, in a way to make Debby’s
eyes sparkle with envy.

“T should think our country would want the girls
to do something for her,” she exploded, with very red
cheeks.

“Well, she doesn’t,” said Simon coolly; “for we
men can take care of you.”

“You are always talking of our being taken care of,
Simon,” cried Debby, getting off from the woodpile in
irritation; “that isn’t in the least what I want. I just

long to do something myself for my own country, and

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18 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

to fight for her. It isn’t fair to give it all to the boys.
Our country belongs to everybody, the women and
girls, the same as to the men.”

Simon, not being able to controvert this, wisely kept
silence, and took satisfaction in flourishing the musket,
and putting her through her paces, so to speak, as if
she had been a thoroughbred.

“And the time will come when itl be nice and
respectable for us to help,” cried Debby excitedly,
“just the same’s if we were boys; so there! I’m
going to fight for my country the very first chance I
get.”

“Well, you’d be drummed out of service,” said Simon
derisively, “as soon as you got in. We don’t have
petticoats in Old Concord Town for soldiers, I can tell
you, Debby Parlin.”

Debby looked down at her homespun gown, and
kicked it in disdain. ‘‘ Well, I’m going up to Perces
Wood’s,” she said at length, thinking it wise to change
the subject ; “I’ve got to spin with her. So I shall hear
all about town meeting and everything else before you
do, Mr. Simon.”

The color came into Simon’s cheek like a girl’s.
“Say, Debby,” he said, as she turned to go, “if you
see Joe Burrell up there, you just see how the land
lays, about Perces, you know. He’ll most likely be

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THE LITTLE MAID. 19

nosin’ round there to-day, pretendin’ he wants to
know about town meetin’.”

“T don’t know as I will,” she called back with a
tantalizing laugh. Her sunbonnet had slipped to her
shoulder, disclosing a round face with a pink flush
overspreading either cheek, where the dimples played
with the light and shade of her face. “I get no sat-
isfaction out of you at all this morning, Simon.
You won’t even tell me where you got your guns.
You’re a very poor cousin to have; and yet you want
me to do all sorts of things for you,” she added,
laughing at the sight of his face.

“Oh! didn’t I tell you?” exclaimed Simon. “Well,
that’s because I was so full of business getting the
old thing ready. I’d just as lieves you knew, Debby.
Abner Butterfield got ’em for us.”

“ Abner Butterfield!” exclaimed Debby, unable to
control her start of surprise. “Goodness me, Simon,
what are you talking of? The idea of Abner Butter-
field having anything to do with guns and fighting.
Why, he wouldn’t know nor care if there were to be
ten thousand wars; he’d stand stock still and not
know till it was all over,” she ended with a short
laugh.

“That’s where you wrong Abner,” declared Simon
stoutly, and pausing a minute to regard her with

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20 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

disfavor; “because he’s quiet like, an’ doesn’t talk
about how he feels, folks don’t see him as he is.
But you ought to know better, Debby Parlin.”

“And why ought I to know, pray tell, Mr. Simon
Brown?” cried Debby airily, and hopping lightly from
one foot to the other as if she quite disdained the
whole subject. ‘I’m sure I don’t Anow nor care how
Abner Butterfield feels.”

“Because Abner lets you see how he feels, an’
you know just what stuff he’s made of,” answered
Simon, ignoring her airs.

“T don’t know as I know much more about Abner
Butterfield’s feelings than you do,” retorted Debby
with a fling to her checked apron. “I’m sure I don’t
see why I should; for I’m tired to death hearing you
talk of him, and I never listen if I can help it.”

Simon brought his thin lips together firmly, and
turned back to his gun-cleaning with redoubled vigor.
“ And I haven’t any patience with you for everlastingly
bringing him up,” said Debby, shaking the light waves
of hair away from her brow, “none at all, Simon.”

Simon kept a cold shoulder for her, and even began
to whistle the last bar of ‘“‘The White Cockade.”

“You always make me run, Simon,” said Debby,
showing not the smallest disposition to stir from her
tracks, ‘whenever you begin to talk of him.’’

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THE LITTLE MAID. 21

Simon, an imaginary fifer, tooted merrily on, with-
out the smallest heed to his cousin.

“And ’tisn’t because I take the slightest interest
in what Abner Butterfield does,” went on Debby,
drawing near in order to get her words in between
the martial strains — “oh, dear me,no! He does vex
me so, Simon; he’s so big and slow. But I’m so
astonished that he’d do anything like the rest of us
Concord folks, to show that we can’t be ground down
to the dust at the bidding of a foolish and wicked
old king.”

“When the time comes, Debby Parlin,” said Simon,
unpuckering his mouth to utter the words forcibly,
“Abner Butterfield’ll fight as well an’ as long as any-
body else. You'll find that out. He won’t give up
till he’s dead.”

Debby shivered dreadfully under her blue home-
spun; but she gave a toss to her pretty head, and
said lightly, “ Fiddle-strings, Simon. Oh, dear me! —
well, I mustn’t stay any longer. I ought to be up
at Mrs. Wood’s this blessed minute. The idea of
wasting my time over Abner Butterfield!”

“T don’t see why you don’t start,” observed Simon;
looking at her. ‘Well, remember what I said about
Perces an’ Joe Burrell, Debby.”

“ And you remember all I’ve said about Abner But-

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22 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN,

terfield,” said Debby, making a great show of haste as
she turned off. “The idea of your keeping me here
talking of nothing but Abner Butterfield.”

Suddenly she turned and came back with one of
those swift characteristic movements that to one who
knew Debby, were never surprising.

” she said, and the color died out of her

“Simon,
cheek, “you’re right. There’s an awful time a-
coming.”

Simon nodded, his lips drawn tightly over his teeth.

“And I’m glad of it; for it’s best to get it over with,”
went on Debby ina low voice. “At any rate, Simon,
if we girls can’t fight, we can talk and pray.”

“Yes,” said Simon, ‘‘there’s an awful lot o’ prayin’
been goin’ on in this town.” He glanced up invol-
untarily, as if he expected to see the supplications on
the way over his head. ‘‘An’ they all ain’t for nothin’,
now, I tell you.”

‘‘ Simon,” said Debby, and her face grew suddenly
very grave, ‘‘I b’lieve we can’t be beaten. You see,
God couldn’t allow it very well, after getting us over
here and promising to take care of us, and keeping us
along till this time. So I know we shall be free and
independent. Just think of it, free and independent! ”
She clasped her hands. ‘‘ O Simon! after all we have
suffered in this town, and in all the other towns, to

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THE LITTLE MAID. 23

think of relief coming.” Her blue eyes glowed with
fire, and her bosom heaved.

Simon could find no words, so he silently redoubled
his work on the old musket.

‘* Tt has been so long now,” went on Debby. ‘‘Our
one thought from morning till night has been, what
shall we do—what can we do—to bring things right? ”
We cannot give up like slaves; we can only die.
Simon, why don’t you say something?” she broke off
impatiently.

“Because I can’t,” replied Simon. ‘“‘It gets too
full up here, when I try to speak about it.” He
touched his throat with his brawny hand. ‘‘Seems
if I sh’d choke.”

“It’s been so many years now,” went on Debby
mournfully, shaking the soft waves across her brow,
‘*since I’ve heard nothing else. Why, I was such a
little girl, Simon, that I don’t remember when I didn’t
hear it all day long, most.”

“I guess we all can say the same thing,” said Simon
grimly.

“I know it,” said Debby, delighted to get him to
talking. ‘‘Of course we’ve all grown up on it. And
do you suppose that the talking and praying of all
these years is going to be wasted, Simon?” She
brought her clear eyes full to bear upon him.

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24 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“No, I don’t, said Simon shortly. He’ had a habit,
when much moved, of bringing his thin lips together
with a snap, as if to shut out superfluous words. So
now he barely allowed his answer to shoot from his
mouth ere he was silent once more.

“No, no, no,” said Debby, with sweet cadence, yet
decisively. “All the prayers are not to be wasted.
Poverty and suffering,’’ her voice sank mournfully —
“© Simon! what haven’t we suffered holding on to
our principles?”

Simon thrust the musket from him with a sudden
gesture, and faced her. Then he picked it up again,
clinching it fast.

“Tf you talk like that, I’ll forget my principles, an’
go an’ fight those infernal redcoats before it’s time.
Do I forget #er, Debby Parlin?” He pointed his
other fist in the direction of the kitchen. “ An’ her
dyin’ by inches because she can’t get good food to
sustain her? An’ how the worry to keep out o’ debt
killed father, an’ left Jabez an’ me with a load on
our shoulders of interest on th’ mortgage that we can’t
pay, an’ that is eatin’ us up? Remember? O God!
can I ever forget?’”’

He was dreadful to look at. Even his shock- of
tow hair seemed to erect itself in defiance as he
blazed away. Debby was almost frightened to death

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THE LITTLE MAID. 25

at the storm she had raised, and she hastened to
say,—

“Well, so long as we have got such good men to
take care of matters as there are in this town, I think
everything will be right. We are law-abiding people,

you know, Simon,”’

she added, repeating one of the
many phrases she had grown up on.

Simon’s face still worked fearfully. But he returned
to his work, as, knowing himself well, he could be held
in check only in that way.

“And we can’t be beaten if we don’t run,”’ said
Debby at last, and the light returned to her eyes.
“And it’s something to be proud of that we’ve never
been afraid yet, but we’ve said what we thought we
ought to. So Concord has been heard from.’’

“She’s always been heard from,” cried Simon, with
sudden fury; ‘‘and she’ll be listened to, I tell you,
when she speaks finally,” as Debby went slowly down

the road.

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26 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN

II.

TORY LEE.

S Debby went slowly on her way, her head drooped
till her soft chin nestled in the blue kerchief,
giving her so little the appearance of the usually
blithe maiden, that the townspeople meeting her
would have turned to watch the sad little figure, had
it not been that all the citizens, young as well as old,
bore about them the same depressed atmosphere. The
whole air seemed charged with the gloom of the pres-
ent suffering and distress, and the foreboding, that yet
was unlike fear, of the deeper gloom of coming events.
It was as if a great crisis were approaching; and
while each countenance and movement expressed this,
it was dominated by a determination and high resolve,
that gave to the provincial face a striking beauty of
expression.

The men were gathered on the Milldam in little
knots, engaged in conversation of a serious and weighty
character that breathed an over-ruling excitement to
thrill each new-comer. Evidently some fresh cause

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TORY LEE, 27

for alarm had seized the village in the early morning,
to judge from the scraps of talk that fell upon the ear
of the chance passer-by. It was noticeable that sev-
eral farmers carried muskets, and that the impulse to
get the instant opinions of their fellow-townsmen was
a general incitant that possessed all classes of citi-
zens. ‘There was the revered parson who was daily
stopped in his walk through the town’s centre by the
earnest seeker after the latest news from Boston, or
for the clerical opinion, now with a large group sur-
rounding him. It was easy to understand by his
kindling eye, the nature of the words flowing from his
burning lips, and that something unusual had inspired
them.

Debby raised her head from her deep dejection as
she passed the group, longing to stop and listen. But
for a woman or a girl to gather patriotism in this way
was considered unseemly; so she went by with added
bitterness in her breast at the fate that had denied
her a lusty boyhood.

Occasionally a face would gleam upon her as she
went along, that held something more than the deter-
mination and high resolution kept in check. Fierce
and bitter would be the flash of the eye, and a sug-
gestive handling of the musket, or the brandishing
of the stout stick, while muttered words of immediate |

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28 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

military action caught her ear. But it was noticeable
that some citizen would quietly approach such a man,
and, laying a hand upon his shoulder, would, in low
tones, talk until he was calmed down, not so much
perhaps by the words uttered, as by the weight of the
name and influence of the man who was speaking.

One going through Old Concord Town on that hot
July morning needed no words to be told that its
citizens were banded together as one family, and
that the desire for Liberty was the band that united
them. Each man seemed a veritable “Son of Lib-
erty,” a mighty host himself, dependent, as the Israel-
ite of old, upon the God of his fathers. To an
onlooker it would have been impossible to misunder-
stand the signs of the times; and every participant
in the life of the village on that day, man, woman, or
child, felt in his and her very soul that an impor-
tant step had been taken in the sequence of events
urging forward the crisis.

Debby could endure it no longer; but rushing past
a knot of farmers whose stern faces and set jaws filled
her with the fire of an unspeakable hope that now
really the war was about to begin, she ran up the road
a good piece, to a matron, standing, as befitted a wo-
man, at a long remove from the crowd on the Milldam.
“Oh! tell me, what is it?” cried Debby, clasping her

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TORY LEE. 29

hands, her sunbonnet slipping back to her shoulder,
allowing the soft waves of hair to escape.

“The Lord help us, Debby!” ejaculated the woman,
turning a solemn face to the girl; yet the thin nostrils
quivered, and there was a light in the black eyes;
“it’s coming; I’ve known it long, and now it’s here.”

“Ts the war actually to begin?” cried Debby with
sparkling eyes; “tell me, Mrs. Hosmer; oh, do tell
me!”

‘“We shall not bear much longer such stress and
strain,’’ said Mrs. Hosmer, her black eyes flashing;
“it is not in human nature. Listen, Debby; some
news reached us this morning, only an hour since,
and look at the number of men gathered to discuss
it.” She pointed to the rapidly augmenting groups
below on the Milldam.

Debby quivered in every limb. “But tell me,”
she implored, ‘‘ what is the news?”

“T only know it is fresh oppression. The king
thinks we need more discipline ; and the news comes
that he has sent over to Boston such a command. I
fear that the excitement will break down our determi-
nation not to strike unless attacked.”

“And what do you call an attack?” cried Debby,
pale with anger. She clinched her young right fist till
the nails struck into the palm. “Shall we be ground

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30 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

down so that we cannot possibly be able to defend
ourselves before we fight? Oh, oh!”

“Nay, child,” said Mrs. Hosmer, controlling hersellt
by a violent effort ; “but we shall injure our cause if
we give way to excitement. When we strike, we must
do it in the right way. Never fear, Debby, the day is
coming in the Lord’s own time when we shall fight.”

She turned off; and Debby, wild with distress, in
which anger and hope for the immediate battle waged
equally in her breast, sped off up the road to Mr.
Ephraim Wood’s, her destination, where she should
have been at the spinning-wheel an hour ago. He
would know, for Mr. Wood knew everything, she said
to herself as she hurried along ; and Mrs. Wood would
tell her what all this dreadful news was, and just how
King George was to persecute them afresh. She res-
olutely sped on, turning her face neither to the right
nor to the left, and presently she ran up to the comfor-
table Wood mansion, fronting the shining and peace-
ful river.

“Perces,” she called, hurrying over the big stone
steps that guarded the entrance to the dooryard, and
running around the side of the house to the kitchen
door, “ where’s Mrs. Wood?”

“In here,” called Perces from the kitchen. “ My
senses, Debby Parlin!” at sight of her scarlet face,

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TORY LEE. 31

“ you’ve run every step of the way, I’ll be bound,” as
she met her at the door. She was much younger than
Debby, but big and strong for her age.

Perces’s mother looked pale ; but there was a strange
light in her eyes, although her hands were busy as
usual over menial tasks. “ What is it—oh, do tell
me, Mrs. Wood?” gasped Debby, holding her with in-
sistent blue eyes.

“News has come but a short time since,” said Mrs.
Wood, “that an ‘Act for the better regulation of the
government of Massachusetts Bay’ has been received
in Boston, and a Mandamus Council and many other
officers are being appointed over us to make us obey
the king and Parliament. Now you know it all,
Deborah, just as much as we know ourselves.”

“ Oh, the wicked, wicked king!” cried Debby, feeling
some of the glow depart. Clearly the war had not actu-
ally begun ; it was only the old story of more oppression.

“Hush, hush, child! Calm yourself,” said Mrs.
Wood. ‘Now I have been hindered this morning
with all this excitement, and I am not ready to set
you to work. Go out and sit down in the air, and
cool off. I will call you when I need you.”

“Isn’t Mr. Wood going to do anything?” asked
Debby anxiously.

”

“Yes; all he or any one can,” answered his wife.

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32 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“He is in the keeping-room with Mr. Flint and Mr.
Merriam. Don’t worry, child,” Mrs. Wood’s voice fell
to a gentle cadence; “God will take care of us.”

Debby went out to the old flat door-stone, thank-
ful, since God would take care of them all, that he
had appointed Mr. Ephraim Wood to see to things,
and heaving a sigh of relief as she thought of such a
strong hand at the helm. She sank down and, twitch-
ing off her sunbonnet, began to fan her hot face.

“My, but ain’t you hot!” exclaimed Perces, look-
ing at the drops of perspiration that ran away from
the damp rings of hair on Debby’s brow; and she
stepped into the kitchen and brought out a great
turkey wing. ‘“ You set still, an’ I’ll fan you,” she
said, waving it back and forth.

Debby caught it out of her hand. “You go back
to your work, Perces. Mrs. Wood’s all tired out.
Oh, dear me, how I do wish the fight would begin
this very day!” She let the fan slip to the ground
while she clasped her hands together, nursing her
knee with them.

Perces made big eyes at her. “Well, I’m sure I
don’t wish so,” she said. ‘‘There’ll be a terrible time,
Debby Parlin, when the fight really does come.”

Debby lifted a hot, distressed face up to the younger
one above her.

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TORY LEE. 33

“Tt is only putting off the dreadful time,” she
said brokenly. “O Perces! what shall we —shall we
do?”

Perces gazed steadily with large and quiet eyes,
like a ruminating animal, over the landscape before
her; then she brought her regard back to Debby’s
face. “I don’t know,” she said. “No one knows.
But God is going to take care of us, I guess. My
father says that our rights have got to be respected,
and that it behooves the town to take a firm stand.
Those are just his very words, Debby. I heard him
tell Mr. Flint so before he shut the door.”

“Are they?” cried Debby, leaning against the door-
jamb to look up at her and drink in every word.

” uttered as she knew Mr.

Somehow that “behooves,
Ephraim Wood had brought it out, gave her solid
comfort, being like a granite rock for support. She
heaved a long and restful sigh.

“Perces, I verily believe your father will fix it up,”
she said out of the depths of a heart devoted to the big
stanch patriot who held so much of the town affairs in
his grasp.

“Yes,” said Perces stolidly; “he and the other men.
Well, you better go round to the other side of the house,
Debby, you’ll get cool quicker.” Somehow Perces
always struck one as being a woman grown, with her

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34 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

large ways to match. And repeating this injunction,
she went back into the kitchen.

Debby crept off her step; and forgetting the turkey
wing, she passed around to the front of the house, where
the shadows under the “laylock” bushes looked tempt-
ing. Here within their cool recess she cuddled up,
intending to stay but a few moments, and then, not
waiting for Mrs. Wood’s summons, to present herself
ready to achieve some household work, even if the
spinning-work was “off the carpet.” Whether the
droning of the insects soothed her, or the soft breeze
that now sprung up and played around the damp rings
on her forehead fanned her into repose, no one can
tell. Certain it is that poor tired little Debby was
soon in the land of dreams, her head drooped on her
bosom as she leaned against the house-side under the
lilac-bushes.

In her dreams she was seeing innumerable com-
panies of redcoats marching down through Concord
Town, to be always met and chased by the Provin-
cials, who drove and beat them stanchly back. To
Debby, revelling in these victories, it seemed as if the
Reg’lars melted into thin air, so completely did they
vanish, only to reappear, when the same performance
was repeated, always to end with victory for Concord.

It was naturally to be expected, therefore, that with

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TORY LEE. 35

such delightful visions her sleep should be restful.
It was so much so, that she was smiling, dewy-eyed,
rosy from slumber-land, when she at last stretched her
young limbs, now no longer tired, and unclosed her
eyes. She was conscious of voices in the room whose
windows were above her head. But before she could
rouse herself out of her dreamy state enough to take
in the sense of the words, she was made aware of some
one looking steadily at her around the corner of the
house; and quick as lightning she saw the face of Tory
Lee, the neighbor of Mr. Wood, as he vainly endeav-
ored to draw back before he was discovered. In a
flash it swept over Debby’s brain. “You’ve been
listening,” she cried, springing to her feet, “Old Tory
Lee!” pointing her finger at him, “to what Mr. Wood
and the others are saying ;” for now she heard the deep
tones of the master of the house engaged in earnest
conversation with those citizens who, she felt sure,
were to be the leaders of the town in this fresh trouble
and oppression. Without a minute’s reflection, as
Tory Lee stole off across the field in the direction of
his mansion, she ran after him. “Old Tory Lee!”
she cried in scorn and anger.

“Girl!’”’ he turned on her, tall and stalwart he was;
“how dare you call me that!’’ he blazed at her.

“Because you are!’’ cried Debby, standing her

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36 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

ground, very pale and determined. “Oh! we are suf-
fering and poor and distressed, God knows. You can
have your fine mansion and fine clothes; but I’d
rather suffer everything than to carry around your
black heart. And now you’ve been listening, I feel
sure, Tory Lee.”

She was not conscious how much she had raised her
voice. Had not the men with Mr. Wood in the room
a short distance off been deep in an agony of thought
and consultation, they must have heard the fine, shrill
call. Some passers-by on the main road caught it,
especially two young farmers coming along with swift
footsteps. Their muskets were in their hands, and
they were stepping off as if actually marching to
battle.

“Tory Lee! Tory Lee!’’ No sooner did they hear
the words than their march changed to a quick run.
“Tory Lee! Tory Lee!’’ They took up the cry, and
passed it along; and presently, there being an unusual
amount of travel produced by the exciting news of the
morning that was bringing many farmers to the centre
of the town, there were about half a score assembling
from different points, and all closing around Debby
and the unfortunate man.

In a flash she saw the mischief she had made; and
though indignant at sight of the man, the stories of

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TORY LEE. 37

whose connivance with the foe against his own towns-
men had made him revolting to her, yet she trembled
in pity for him; she was in dread, too, lest the young,
excited farmers might do something to plunge the town
into shame and sorrow. She held up her hand to them
imperatively, and they instantly paused. All of them
knew her. Who in the town did not? Farmer Parlin’s
winsome maid, sitting so demure between father and
mother in the square pew in the old meeting-house
every Sabbath day, her face like a wild rose peeping
out from her big bonnet; and in the breast of more
than one who thus knew her dwelt a marvellously clear
reflection of her cheeks and eyes and hair, to last six
other days of the week, till the next Lord’s day should
arrive, when the reflection could be renewed. So now
they one and all obeyed.

“Run for your life,’? commanded Debby in a low
voice, while all the color fled from her face to “Tory
Lee,” who needed no second bidding. And, although
a fine and somewhat stately man, he was not above a
nimble run, with more thought for speed than for
grace; so that his long limbs soon carried him within
his own confines, and to the safe retreat of his big
mansion.

“The times do not warrant anything like this,”
exclaimed one young farmer, who, as Debby had re-

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38 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

ceived his advances with cold disapproval, had not
so much to lose by her present displeasure.

“And why am I not warranted, Mr. Haskins ?”
replied Debby in a high, cool key, “pray tell. When
by my cry you were summoned, clearly I have the
right to settle the matter.”

The young fellow looked chagrined; but another,
swallowing his wrath at sight of “Tory Lee,” and
his disappointment at failing to mete out some sort
of punishment to him, broke in, “ Debby speaks well,
and of course we'll let the villain go.”

“Yes, of course,” assented still another, though with
difficulty; “but after this he must look out, or we’ll
invite him to a ride with a tar-and-feather coat.”

And they were about to pass on, when Abner But-
terfield came down the road, his first intimation of
the news from Boston being late, as his farm was in
one of the out-lying districts. When Haskins, the
first speaker, caught sight of his big, sturdy figure, it
seemed to arouse all his animosity, that, fired by the
excitement of the morning, was burning fiercely.

“T d’no about that,” he declared obstinately. “I
believe that we owe Tory Lee more’n we can ever pay
him up ef he lived a hundred years. Who knows but
what his finger has been in the trouble stirred up fresh
for us to bear now? Boys, what d’ye say to that coat

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TORY LEE. 39

o’ tar-an’-feathers mow, an’ after that a dip in the
river. Come on, I’m for it!”

He sprang off in the direction of the Lee mansion ;
and a half-dozen young fellows with hot blood, fired
by the news of the fresh persecution brought that
morning, dashed after him. Debby uttered a low cry,
and clasped her hands in terror. Every drop of blood
seemed to desert her body as she stood there a frozen
little thing.

Abner Butterfield strode to her side between the
group of young men still obeying her. ‘ What is’t,
Debby?” he demanded, reaching her side.

“O Abner!” she sprang out into life and action
again. “Make them stop,” she entreated, the color
now spreading over her face; “ they are going to harm
Tory Lee. It is all my fault ; I was upbraiding him,
and they heard me. Abner, stop them!”

At this juncture Haskins gave a jeering laugh. It
was madness to him to see Abner Butterfield appealed
to by Debby; and now he determined that Tory Lee
should suffer for it, if the skies fell. He flourished
his musket high above his head, and called upon all
good patriots to fall in to this righteous work, “unless
you want to be reckoned along with the old traitor.”

That was enough after the news of the morning;
and every soul of them except Abner ran, with all the

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40 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

ardor of youth on fire with love of country, across the
road, and swarmed over the broad Lee acres. Debby
could see a long, pale face at one of the large win-
dows, and then it was withdrawn. She wrung her
hands in anguish. “They will kil] him!” she cried,
“and his blood will be on my head.”

“Debby,” said Abner, laying his big hand on her
arm, “don’t feel badly. They won’t darst do any-
thing but give him a scare.”

“T’ve killed him!” cried Debby, with wild eyes.
“OQ Abner!” She crept up closer to his big side,
and shivered like a hurt little thing.

“They will not darst,” he began again; and his
hand smoothed her bright hair as softly as her mother
could have done. Just then a shout, discordant and
angry, smote the air. It came from the house-place
of the Lee mansion.

Debby broke away from Abner’s hand. “TI shall
tell Mr. Wood!” she screamed. And speeding down
the road to the house, while Abner strode off to do his
best to quell the incipient riot, she burst on unsteady
feet into the august presence of the three councillors.
“Oh, sir!” she cried through white lips, “and Mr.
Flint and Mr. Merriam, save Tory Lee!”

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WITHIN THE LEE MANSION. 4I

Il.

WITHIN THE LEE MANSION.

< HAT does the child mean?” exclaimed Mr.
Wood, pushing the papers on the big ma-
hogany table around which they were seated away
from him. He got out of his chair, and took hold of
Debby’s trembling arm. He was a large, powerful
man, weighing two hundred and fifty pounds or there-
about, and very tall and straight; and he towered so
high above the little maid that she breathed grate-
fully, “O Mr. Wood! you can stop them,” she cried.

“What does the child mean?” exclaimed the good
man again in perplexity; then he started to the door,
still holding Debby’s arm. “ Mother,” he called, “the
little Parlin maid seems to be ill; you had better
come and care for her.”

“Oh, I’m not ill!” protested Debby, wringing her
hands at all this delay; “I’m afraid for Tory Lee;
don’t you hear them, sir? And you, Mr. Flint and
Mr. Merriam? They’re going to do dreadful things to
him, if you don’t stop it.”

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42 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“The girl seems to have something on her mind,”
said Mr. Merriam, jumping from his chair, “ connected
with Tory Lee.” He hastened to the window and
looked out. ‘Ah, Brother Wood, see there!” he
pointed to the crowd around the Lee mansion.

“In that case our conference must wait a bit,” ob-
served Mr. Flint, getting out of his chair — “until we
subdue this tumult, whatever it is.” He glanced out
the window, then reached for his hat where he had
hung it behind the door. “It is about time to put a
stop to all Tory sentiments, in my opinion,” he said,
a heavy frown settling over his face.

Brother Wood was already out of the door. “We
have need of great judgment to proceed aright. This
day of all days it would be disastrous for a riot to be-
gin.” He strode off with long steps, his two col-
leagues coming after as best they might, and only
overtaking him as he entered the Lee grounds.

The clamor seemed to proceed from the space sur-
rounding the back door of the mansion, and to this
spot Mr. Ephraim Wood and his two associates now
betook themselves. No sooner had they turned the
corner of the large house than the scene that pre-
sented itself awakened all their ire. The leader, who
towered so above his fellows, thundered out, his usu-
ally calm face working fearfully, ‘‘ Fellow citizens,

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WITHIN THE LEE MANSION. 43

I command you in the name of God Almighty to
disperse.”

The riotous element, at this juncture attempting
to force the heavy oaken door, was composed ot
young men; and seeing the fathers of law and order
in the town, headed by such a formidable specimen
as Mr. Wood, advancing toward them in a way
that meant business, each one began to fall back
on the other, and to wish himself well out of the
affair.

“God knows we have enough to bear,” went on
Mr. Wood sternly, “without disgracing the fair name
of our town. Riot and disorderly conduct doth not
belong to Concord.”

“We've suffered through this man,” spoke up one
of the young farmers, more clever with his tongue
since he’d once ventured to air an opinion in one
of the town meetings which were being constantly
held. “No one knows what evil he will do if not
restrained.”

“Leave that to those who can perform the work
better than you,” commanded Mr. Wood more
sternly.

“Rioting and personal abuse are not allowable in
this town,” said Mr. Merriam. “We will take care
of Dr. Lee at the proper time.’’

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44. A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“Another instant’s work and you would have
made yourselves liable to be clapped into jail,”
cried Mr. Flint with anger. ‘‘ Away with you!”’
he swung his knobby stick, which he had taken the
precaution to bring, around his head, — ‘‘and never
get into such work again. You'll have fighting soon
enough, God knows, when we can all band together
as good citizens of a town that has never been dis-
graced.”’

“Softly there, my good friend Flint,” said Mr.
Wood, cooling down as he saw the other firing up,
“let us take the names of these disturbers of our
peace, so that we may know who they are who
would threaten the good name of Concord.” He
swept the whole circle of young men with his eye,
some of whom on the outskirts were endeavoring
to duck and steal off unobserved. “No, you needn’t
hurry away, Jedediah Platt,” he remarked grimly
to such an one, “since I know you perfectly well,
and your name must go down along with the rest.”
From the breast pocket of his coat he took out a big
red leather wallet much worn, as it had belonged to
his father before him. Its strap ran around to the
opposite side, holding the papers close and _ safe
within. It was lined with faded blue paper, and
contained three pockets. Out of one of these Mr.

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WITHIN THE LEE MANSION. 45

Wood secured the necessary bit of paper, using the
end of a letter for that purpose; and taking out his
pencil, he proceeded, in the leisurely judicial way
peculiar to him, to note down all individuals before
him, to their great disgust and shame.

When he came to Abner Butterfield he looked up
in surprise. Mr. Flint gave an uneasy ejaculation,
while Mr. Merriam showed his disdain by a con-
temptuous silence.

“Indeed, sir,” protested Abner hurriedly, while
the scarlet flew into his brown cheek, “I had nothing
to do with this unhappy business. I came to try
to stop them.”

“Poor influence you’ve had, Abner,” observed
Mr. Wood with irony. “I should have supposed
your words would have carried more weight.”

Haskins sneered, and ground the heel of his boot
into the grass. At least Abner would be disgraced
in the eyes of these good and influential citizens.
That was something to be rejoiced at anyway.

“Vour name must go down,” said Mr. Wood
calmly, “with the others, as long as you are found
here with them.” And Abner set his teeth together
hard at the first record of what to him meant ever-
lasting disgrace.

“And now away with you all!” roared Mr. Wood

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46 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

at them, the taking of names being finished. And
what with this command, and the swinging again of
Mr. Flint’s knobby stick that somehow in the style
of his performance seemed a terror, the crowd dis-
persed, and hurried off to town —all but two mem-
bers of it.

Those were Abner Butterfield and Jim Haskins.
The latter, not content with the sight of the gloomy,
set face overtopping the stalwart figure of the first-
named young man, chose to wait for him, as he
walked slowly, evidently with a desire to avoid a
meeting.

“Seems to me you’re awful glum over it,’’ remarked
Haskins with an unpleasant grin, stepping to Abner’s
side. “I d’no’s it’s any worse for you than for the
rest o’ us. But what do I care? Confusion take
7em!” He snapped his fingers off toward the three
dignitaries who had just read them the law.

No answer. Abner strode gloomily on, never look-
ing at his companion. This nettled Haskins, who at
least wanted the consideration of hail fellowship with
Abner, which thus far in his life he had never been
able to obtain; but now, dragged together in the com-
mon bond of misery, he looked to the fulfilment of
his desires in that quarter. “And I’m monstrous
glad you’ve caught it!” he went on, at sight of the

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WITHIN THE LEE MANSION. 47

cold face turned away from him, while his compan-
ion’s head was carried high.

“Will you have the goodness, Haskins, to go your
side of the road,” said Abner, “or in front, I don’t
care which. I want no words with you of any sort.
All I desire is to be let alone.” Still he didn’t look
at him.

‘And that’s just what you won’t have,” cried Has-
kins, irritated beyond measure at the scorn of Abner’s
words and manner. Then, impelled by the working-
power of the double draughts of hard cider with which
he had fortified himself since early morning, and
without a bit of warning, he yelled out, ‘‘ You'll never
get Debby Parlin if you try all your life; she’ll play
with you as she plays with all; a curse on her and
on you.”

Abner Butterfield turned like lightning, his face a
stormy sea over which tossed the waves of white
wrath. He seized the coat collar of the man before
him, and shook it till he could shake no more; the
figure within being lifted from the ground, its legs
and arms flying out like those of a puppet. The end
of the performance saw Haskins in the ditch in a
heap, and Abner striding down the road after saying,
‘¢ Another word about her from your dastard’s throat,

and you’ll never speak more.”’

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48 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

Haskins gathered himself from the ditch, looked
carefully around to see if there were any witnesses,
then shook his fist at the departing figure, his face
swollen with passion. There were no words to come
from his mouth.

Meanwhile Mr. Wood gave a vigorous clang of the
knocker on the oaken front door of the mansion.
“Tt is I,” he said, at the same time, reassuringly, “Mr.
Ephraim Wood. Do you, Brother Flint, step to the
window and speak within, and you to another win-

ce

dow,” nodding to Mr. Merriam; “ verily; they are all
so frightened that they will not admit us, thinking we
are come to molest them.”

“The curtains are all drawn tight,” reported Mr.
Flint, after a careful reconnoitring of the mansion,
in which statement Mr. Merriam concurred.

“Then we must resort to sterner measures,” said
Mr. Wood, “to announce who we are; for get into this
house, where we can deliver our message, we must and
will.” He stepped off to the greensward in front of
the door. “Approach the window, Dr. Lee,” he
called in stentorian tones, “for I have somewhat to
say to you. You know me; I am your neighbor, and
these are your fellow-townsmen. Surely we have not
come to harm you, but to a peaceable conference.”
All this he delivered as if to a large assembly.

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WITHIN THE LEE MANSION. 49

It had the effect, before it was half through, to bring
a long, nervous hand to the curtain-edge, which was
pulled aside hesitatingly. And then, by the time the
address was over, the window was open, and Dr. Lee’s
head appeared.

““We have come to speak to you, Dr. Lee,” said Mr.
Wood, his neighbor, dropping his voice to its accus-
tomed note of calm consideration, ‘‘and we beg that
you will open the door and give us admittance.”

It was impossible to refuse this; and the big oaken
door was soon ajar, and the self-invited guests were
passing down the wide wainscoted hall lined with
family portraits.

Dr. Lee nervously threw open the door to the spa-
cious room on the right. “Walk in, gentlemen,” he
said, motioning them within. He was very pale; and
his upper lip, well pulled down over the lower, con-
cealed where that had been bitten in the ordeal of
suspense and fear he had just endured. He waited
silently for them to speak, and followed them into the
apartment, seating himself in its shadow as much as
was consistent with his ideas of hospitality, that was
in duty bound to present a show of pleasure at the
visit.

“Our errand is on a most unhappy subject,” began
Mr. Wood, as the two gentlemen looked to him to

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50 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

begin the conversation. “It is useless to ignore the
fact that a disturbance has been made in your house-
place this morning, even to threats to force your
door.” Mr. Wood was not one to mince matters,
but usually he went to the heart of the truth at one
bound.

“You say well — there has been a disturbance,” be-
gan Dr. Lee harshly; and rolling back his upper lip,
the little stream of blood released, trickled down by
a slender thread to his waistcoat.

“You are ill, Brother Lee,” exclaimed Mr. Flint,
starting forward. “ Pray do not try to talk,” said Mr.
Wood in commiseration.

“A paltry thing,” exclaimed Dr. Lee hastily, to
shut off the sympathy he saw coming to the mouth of
Mr. Meriam, “only a lip-cut. Yes, the outrage com-
mitted on my house and grounds ‘s a dastardly thing.
Let me tell you, gentlemen,” he clinched his shapely
hand, and brought it down heavily on the table laden
with rare china, and what was rarer still in that day,
fine books, and thrust his pale face over toward
them, “such an outrage is subject to the extremest
penalty of the law. Concord shall pay for this.”

“Softly, softly, Brother Lee,” said Mr. Wood in
a large, calm way. The other two men_ hitched
their chairs nervously forward, while their thin lips

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WITHIN THE LEE MANSION. 51

trembled with their eagerness to speak. “ Extremest
penalty of the law are hard words to use, and threats
toward your town harder yet. Let us look at this
matter.” He crossed his long legs, and folded his
large hands together judicially. “A number of young
and hot-headed youths have committed a disturbance
on your place,—a disturbance, Dr. Lee, urged on by
certain fixed and growing opinions held to by many
good, reliable residents of this town, that you are
not loyal to her interests, nor to the interests of the
Province and the Colonies.”

“T am loyal to her, and to the Province and to the
Colonies,” broke in Dr. Lee excitedly. His pale face
trembled with his eagerness, and again he clinched
his hand fiercely. “I am, as we all should be, a good
subject of our king. And no man can point to any-
thing I have done, who dares to say otherwise.”

“Common report has aired many dubious things on
this point about you, Dr. Lee,” said Mr. Wood so-
berly. “God grant they may not be true.”

“They are not true,” declared Dr. Lee in a shrill
voice. “Enemies have followed me, and perverted
many things from their rightful meaning. I can ex-
plain them all satisfactorily.”

His visitors regarded him gravely. He ran on with
the air of a man desiring complete re-establishment

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52 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

in good favor, and cried passionately, “And if I have
let slip at any time an unguarded opinion, surely
every man can hold his own opinions, and I am
supposed to be among friends.”

“Too many opinions on the subject dear to our
hearts, American liberty, cannot be allowed, Dr. Lee,”
said Mr. Wood quietly; ‘there can be but one opin-
ion. Whoever does not hold to the right one, with
the rest of his fellows, must be content to be ranked an
outsider. He puts himself there by his own hand.”

Dr. Lee cringed an instant, but immediately rallied.
“And again I say,” he boldly asserted, straightening
himself up in the tall, carved chair, “that every man
is entitled to his opinions. Liberty! what does the
word mean but that? And, Brother Wood, pardon
me if I express to you my belief that you may come
to see the matter as I do. It is a poor time, let me
tell you, for this outrage to have taken place this
morning, when our king has sent us fresh warning
of his power to quell our aspirations for American
Independence, —an unpropitious moment truly for a
good and loyal subject of his to be maltreated.’
He laughed triumphantly. Mr. Flint and Mr. Meriam
sat with flashing eyes, erect on their chairs; but they
held their peace, knowing that their turn to speak
would soon arrive.

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WITHIN THE LEE MANSION. 53

“And hark ye, Dr. Lee,” Mr. Wood unclasped his
large hands, and leaned his immense height forward
while he sought the depths of the other’s eyes, “it
is mayhap in the sight of God the best time, if the
disturbance must come, that you should be brought
to see on ¢his very day what a temper we are pos-
sessed of. Hardly any other morning could it have
occurred. It is just because the news has aroused
every soul in this town that the excitement has proved
unbearable. It must vent itself on anything that
points to even the slightest suspicion of disloyalty to
our hope and our belief in ultimate freedom.”

“We are waging a fearful struggle,” cried Dr. Lee
to gain time, and to feel his way, while he controlled
his passion at the leaping forth of that of the other.

“We can but die — and, hark ye!” Mr. Wood
thundered out the words, while he brought his large
hand on the table with a noise, which, compared to
that produced by a similar cause on the part of his
host, was a Niagara roar beside a purling brook.
Every article on the table danced and quivered. Dr.
Lee involuntarily moved back his chair. “ But we
will die free men — hark ye that!” He brought his
large face forward with a thrust at his neighbor —a
face in which an innumerable host seemed to speak
and protest their willingness to fight for what was

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54 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

dearer to them than life. And for a minute, while
the ponderous old corner clock ticked off the sec-
onds, the two looked at each other, and no one spoke
or stirred.

“ And instead of the extremest penalty of the law,”’
—it was Mr. Meriam who broke the silence,— “let
me tell you, Dr. Lee, it is you who have cause to fear.
There are laws that once broken cannot be forgiven.
Arraigned before the bar of an insulted and outraged
town, one who broke such a law would stand but a poor
chance. I advise you to meditate well on this point.”’

“And it is in your power to protect yourself,’’ ob-
served Mr. Flint incisively, “but not much longer in
our power to protect you. We have done our best this
morning, as you very well know; but the times are get-
ting more troublous, and we cannot answer for your
safety if increasing suspicion points to you.’’

“Brother Lee,’’ said Mr. Wood, getting out of his
chair, and drawing himself up to his great height, “I
pray you to ponder well our words. We have much
business before us in the coming hours, and we will
wish you good-day.’’ He signed to his associates, who
went through the same form of leave-taking, to be dis-
missed at the big green door with punctilious polite-
ness by the pale-faced man, the little blood-stream
still trickling over his waistcoat.

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ONE LITTLE CARTRIDGE. 55

IV.

ONE LITTLE CARTRIDGE.

T was a stormy night, wild and forbidding. The
rain poured down pitilessly upon the scattered
farmhouses, and beat about the windows, against
whose panes the sodden branches were tossed by
the wind that arose at nightfall. In about an hour
it blew a gale.

Three men were wending their solitary way to the
farmhouse where their deliberations were to take
place. The countenances of all were animated by a
stern resolve, as if, by slow accretions of strength,
their owners had arrived at a determination, that, once
fixed, became unalterable. The firmly set mouth, the
eye glowing with the fire of resolution—each and
all bore the same expression; yet in build and gen-
eral make-up the pedestrians were widely different.

At last the paths of two of them converged in the
road leading to Captain James Barrett’s house, the
place of meeting. And they fell into conversation,
and spoke out of full hearts.

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56 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“The times are troublous to that degree that nothing
worse can come to us than death,” said one. “We are
slaves in reality, though bearing all the semblance of
free men,’’ he added bitterly.

“That is so,” assented the other gloomily, letting
his head drop on his breast.

“Yet we must not despond,” the first man made

haste to reply, as he saw the effect of his words, “

or
all is lost. It is only by keeping our heads cool, and
preserving our resolution, that we can strike the blow
when the time arrives. And that time will soon be
here.”

“Thank God!” exclaimed the other, rousing out of
his temporary depression; “to strike would be heaven
indeed. It is this delay that is killing us all, when
we see each day is but the season for fresh indignity
and privation. My very soul burns within me for the
fight to begin.”

“Vou would not have us strike the first blow,
Brother Whitney?” ventured the first man, more for
the opportunity of a remark, than because he doubted
the answer. “Surely that would be certain death and
disaster, besides being wicked. We are a righteous
people and law-abiding. Let the tyrant strike first,
and begin the war; then we will show him we are
ready for it.”

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ONE LITTLE CARTRIDGE. 57

In his excitement he bared his head to the pitiless
storm, while silently invoking the aid of that God in
whom he believed.

“T agree with you wholly, Brother Hosmer,” said
Mr. Whitney, “only I am for such plain and square
statements now from the people of Concord that there
can be no doubt as to our way of looking at the
matter.”

“T did not think there ever had been much occasion
for doubt in our former words, when opportunity hath
given us power to speak,” remarked Mr. Hosmer
dryly.

“True, true,” cried Mr. Whitney. “And now,”
clinching his good right hand, “they shall hear it
more than ever from our town. Concord shall speak
as never before, although I grant you we have been
plain and square of speech. We care not for the
British foe on land or sea. We are free, despite
King George himself!”

The other repressed the sigh that was on his lips,
and gazed in sympathy at his fellow-citizen, as the
third man, whose approach in the rain and darkness
had not been observed, now drew near.

“T could hear your words,” he said, “ and I am with
you, Brother Whitney.” He carried the same daunt
less front, although his words were quiet.

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58 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“ So are we all, I believe,” declared Mr. Hosmer.
“ And we shall soon have a chance to prove our speech,

” as a candle

Brother Heywood. Well, here we are,
gleaming in the Barrett homestead-beckoned them on
to light and warmth.

“We have a task to do to-night that, please God,
will help forward the work,” he added, as they passed
over the greensward before the door; “anything is
better than this wretched suspense. Our words, as we
write them to-night, must be strong, to arouse every
soul who shall hear them to his duty.”

The big door was thrown wide, and the good man
of the house stood before them.

He was over sixty years of age, yet his counte-
nance glowed with the enthusiasm of youth. He
held the door wide, as if awaiting them impatiently.
“Come in, friends,” he cried, drawing them from the
storm and the wind; “lay off your wet garments in
here.” He led the way through to the big kitchen,
where the large logs were crackling in the fireplace,
and the kettle steamed suggestively.

Mrs. Barrett, a goodly matron of stately mien, rose
to greet them; and by her side was Miliscent, the
eldest granddaughter, a tall, slender girl with beautiful
dark hair and eyes. With kind intent, they soon
assisted the new-comers to dispose of the dripping

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ONE LITTLE CARTRIDGE. 59

cloaks and hats, that presently sent out in the warmth,
induced by the hot fire, a steam that proclaimed the
drying process well advanced.

“Tt is a sorry night,” observed Mrs. Barrett to open
conversation.

“To say the truth, madam, I have not been troubled
by it,” said Mr. Hosmer; “nor, I venture to say has
either of my companions. We carry about with us
continually such a storm in our hearts, that the ele-
ments might war about us, and we should call it
child’s play in comparison.”

Mrs. Barrett sighed; and Miliscent, who stood near,
felt her young cheek glow, while she said, and her
eyes blazed, “I hope you will do something to-night,”
including them all in her glance, “that will make the
wicked king see he cannot grind us any more beneath
his tyranny.”

“ Miliscent! Miliscent!” reproved her grandmother.

“T do!” asserted Miliscent stoutly, though usually
she was most submissive to those in authority. “O
grandmother! do let me say it; I should die if I
didn’t.”

Captain Barrett looked as if about to answer her,
but said instead, ‘““You must take your hot toddy,
friends, and drive the cold out. Wife, bring the de
canter and the boiling water.”

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60 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

The making of the toddy was religiously believed
in through all the Colonies as a neighborly and family
rite of universal distinction; and the old silver tank-
ard and the decanter must necessarily take the post
of honor in the setting out on the buffet. To-night
the manner observed in partaking of the steaming
tankard seemed like that of a sacrament. Each man
sipped his portion silently with that abstracted and
fixed gaze that showed him lost in thought. All the
joy and neighborly gayety were lacking; more like to
the pledging of vows it was, as the cup was passed
around. And at last the silence became so painful
that Miliscent stirred uneasily in her chair, and
looked as if the tears were about to fall over cheeks
blanched with efforts to keep them back.

“Well, friends,” said the host, breaking the pause,
“if you will not take any more toddy, we will adjourn
to the muster-room. Wife, see that there is no
noise, for we shall need all our thoughts in unin-
terrupted quiet.’’

The men rose and filed out silently. Miliscent
gave a low cry as the last one disappeared. “O
grandmother! how can you sit so still. I can’t bear
it;” and she sank down on the floor, and buried her
head in Mrs. Barrett’s lap.

“Dear child,” said Mrs. Barrett with a low groan,

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ONE LITTLE CARTRIDGE. 61

c

while her fingers smoothed the soft dark hair, “my
heart is sore and affrighted, but it will not do to
give way. Your father and Mr. Hosmer, Mr. Whit-
ney and Mr. Heywood, need to be encouraged, and
it is all we women can do to stay their minds and
hearts. If they saw us fretting and repining, it
would only burden them with useless sorrow. We
must prove ourselves worthy of them and our town,
and we must do our part to save it.”

Her eyes glowed as much as the young girl’s; and
her heart beat fast, although her fingers, moving in
and out the soft hair, were steady and cool.

“But think what we have suffered —see what we
are enduring now!” cried Miliscent, raising her head
in a flame of anger. “Can we—ought we to bear
it longer before we openly rebel? Say, grand-
mother. Oh! why doesn’t God help us?” She
brought the last words out in a wail, and her head
sank again to Mrs. Barrett’s lap.

“Listen, Miliscent;” the woman’s face was very
pale, and her inward prayer for wisdom to speak,
unloosened her lips. “The Lord is mighty and will
prevail.’’

“Oh! that is what Parson Emerson preaches,” broke
in Miliscent impatiently; ‘‘but why doesn’t God help
us now, grandmother? We’ve borne all we can.”

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62 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“No!” Mrs. Barrett’s voice rang out clear and
true. She raised her eyes to heaven. “Thank God,
we can bear everything for him. ‘If he slay me,
yet will I trust him.’ Miliscent, stop at once” — and
her tone was of authority that the girl knew allowed
of no disobedience — “all this foolish repining. The
Lord’s hand is not so heavy that it cannot save. He
will come, and that right early, in his own good time,
to our relief. Do not be afraid.”

The girl stole a glance at her grandmother’s face,
and was awe-struck to see how it shone, as if Heaven’s
own light were really on it.

“ And now sit down to your spinning at once,” said
Mrs. Barrett, rousing herself to speak in her usual
brisk manner; ‘‘nothing drives out the desire for use-
less repining, quicker than work. Sit down and do
a stent.” And the whirring of the wheel proclaiming
her command obeyed, she went to her bedroom,
buttoned fast the door, to fall on her knees by the
old four-poster, and pour out her soul in prayer for
the deliberations going on in the muster-room.

The next morning dawned bright and clear, with
no trace of the late storm, save that here and there
branches strewed the ground where they had fallen
twisted from the parent trees. Miliscent had re-
mained over night. In truth, she was as often at the

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ONE LITTLE CARTRIDGE. 63

old homestead as at her father’s house next door; for
she was a favorite grandchild, and she fitted well into
the ways of the older household. She threw wide the
shutter of the little room, that was always hers when
she stayed at grandfather’s, and looked without. The
sun was coming up bright and golden, a rosy flush
pervading the sky to mark his advances. The fresh,
sweet air poured into the chamber laden with that
peculiar resinous quality that follows a heavy rain,
and all the shining landscape lay fair and wholesome
as a maiden’s dream could depict it. Miliscent leaned
her elbows upon the sill, and rested her head upon
her hands, to drink it all in.

“War —and bloodshed! Oppression and distress!”
the smiling scene seemed to belie the very existence
of such facts in God’s universe. And Miliscent for
the moment felt as gladsome as a child, simply in the
delight of living. As far as her eyes could reach,
were the broad acres belonging to her grandfather.
No evidence was there of aught but peace and plenty;
all was repose. The cattle off in the barnyard were
lowing at the gate, preparatory to their departure
for the luscious pasture across the road, and the
fowls stepping about and picking up the early worms
beneath her window had the same soothing air of
content and security that broods over farm-life,

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64 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

The girl looking on at the window caught this rest-
ful spirit, and it seemed as if an uneasy dream had
been the occasion of all former disquietude. Here
was reality.

But presently she started back as if struck by
some unseen hand. ‘“O God!” she cried, “how can
I forget, even for an instant? Our homes— what do
they mean to us? Only that we can keep them on
sufferance, and in obedience to wicked mandates.
Any instant they are likely to be taken from us,
and we to become the slaves that we really are. Oh!
if I could do something to help my poor, suffering
country.’’

She suddenly left the window, and threw herself
down by the bed, burying her young face in the dimity
counterpane. ‘‘Dear God,’’ she breathed brokenly,
“give me something that my hands can do, to help
forward our righteous struggle. Hear me, O God!”
Then she hurried over to the old-fashioned wash-
stand in the corner, and from the basin dashed up
the clear water on her flushed and tear-stained face.

“Grandmother,” Miliscent went up to Mrs. Bar-
rett’s side as she bent over the morning meal of
ham and eggs frying in the spider; ‘‘I am going
to get the rest of the breakfast. Sit down in the
keeping-room, do, you look so hot and tired.”

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ONE LITTLE CARTRIDGE. 65

“Miliscent, it is good for me to have my hands
occupied,’’ said Mrs. Barrett. Yet she turned and
looked long and lovingly into the face beside her.
In truth, it was a comely sight.

Miliscent’s dark hair was braided away neatly
from either side of her shapely head; there was the
glow of health upon her cheek, and a dewy light in
the dark eyes, that had a deep and tender look in
their depths as they rested gravely on her grand-
mother’s face. It was as if she had, while losing
none of her youth, grown suddenly alive to the re-
sponsibilities of the hour, and glad to feel the
weight of them upon her strong young shoulders.
There was altogether such a new expression on her
face, that Mrs. Barrett hastened to add, “ Don’t worry,
Miliscent, nor take all this trouble too much to heart.
You are young; it is for us who are old and experi-
enced, who should bear the burden and the distress.’’

“T do not worry,” said Miliscent, throwing back
her head as she spoke. “And I am glad to cast
in my lot, and endure suffering with all the others,
who perchance are old and experienced. Grand-
mother, I hope God is going to give something into
my hand to help forward this struggle for freedom.’’
Her delicate nostril quivered and her bosom heaved;
but there was a light in her eye, and her grand-

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66 <A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

mother gazed at her, the fork with which she had
been turning the ham poised in the air.

“Child, child, what has come to you?” she ex-
claimed, not without admiration.

“T cannot tell, grandmother. I only know that God
will hear my prayer to be allowed to help onward this
mighty struggle against wrong and oppression.”

“You do help— you are a tower of strength every
day!” cried Mrs. Barrett. ‘“In these two houses you
are light and sunshine and hope. And your grand-
father was saying but the other day, that to hear your
step and to see your face were rest and comfort to
him. It is no small thing, Miliscent, to be the stay of
such a good man as he is.”

Miliscent’s cheeks glowed, and the tears ran down
her young face. She put both arms around her grand-
mother and embraced her, a proceeding that aston-
ished them both equally, for New England reticence
forbade many endearing expressions of the affection
that lay deeply hidden in the heart. Then she said,
and this time she took the fork not ungently from her
grandmother’s hand, “Do you go and rest. At least
this burden I can take from you;”
with her dark eyes till Mrs. Barrett yielded, and left
her with the task.

Miliscent had run over home to help her mother

and she pleaded

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ONE LITTLE CARTRIDGE. 67

with the morning work, and having finished the last
duty required, that of inducting Patty into a clean
checked apron, and seating her at a stent on a sam-
pler, she was hurrying back to Grandfather Barrett’s,
skimming over the greensward that lay between the
two houses, her thoughts busy with the ever-present
topic, and her heart beating with her new and high-
born hope, unconscious that she had reached the little
path that led up to the old door, till she heard a light
and musical laugh, and looking up, she espied a young
and decidedly handsome British officer gazing at her
with ill-concealed admiration.

He was just before her in the path, and advancing
to the door. He stepped back; his hand went to
his cap, while he made her a deep bow, and then stood
with uncovered head for her to pass.

“Vou desire to see my grandfather, I presume. He
is not at home, but will probably be in soon,” said
Miliscent, preserving her self-possession, and looking
more like a wild-flower than ever, her head erect on its
graceful neck. ‘‘Pray walk in;” for it was the custom
for Captain Barrett and his son James to furnish oat-
meal and other provisions through the Commissary
Department of Boston, young staff-officers being sent
out to Concord in connection with the transaction of
the business.

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68 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“T do; but pardon me a moment, time is not so
pressing, I am sure,” said the young officer hastily.
“T pray you to give me a few words.”

“Time is pressing with me,” said Miliscent, paus-
ing with one foot on the flat door-stone. “We are
poor people, sir, and need to work with our hands
for our subsistence.” She spoke with a sweet seren-
ity, and a dignity that made him again bow invol-
untarily.

“ Ah,” he said with a smile, and the color leaped
to his cheek as he spoke, “you would refuse me the
right of conversation, and treat me as if I were an
outcast, merely, forsooth, I presume, because I am a
good subject of my king and yours.”

“Not so,” said Miliscent gravely; “you do wrong
to say I refuse to talk with you. Indeed, I am
glad to speak my mind, and to say what is on my
heart. You will but take offence at it, though, I am
sure.”

“Nay, nay, fair Rebel,” said the young officer with
a laugh, while his color heightened and his blue eye
was clear and sunny; “you shall say what you will,
and I promise you on my good sword here,” he
tapped the hilt as he spoke, and he looked at her
long and earnestly, “‘that I will recognize no affront
in your words.”

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ONE LITTLE CARTRIDGE. 69

“A rebel I may seem to you,” Miliscent tossed her
shapely head. “Iam proud to rebel against the unjust
mandates of such a king as you seem glad to serve.
I would live on bread and water all my days rather
than to submit tamely.”

2

“JT believe you,” said the young Briton, all the
laugh dropping out of his face, while his eyes grew
grave. He rested his right foot on the step above
him, upon which Miliscent stood, and laid his palm
on his knee. ‘“ And yet, Miss Barrett, do you know,”
his voice dropped to a low tone as he said earnestly,
“there is not the smallest chance that you can ever
be victorious. Better be warned, and give up the
struggle.”

“We shall be victorious!” cried Miliscent defiantly,
while her eyes flashed. “Do not say such dreadful
things to me. We shall—we must conquer in the
end!”

The young soldier shook his head sadly, like one
who hates to say unwelcome truths. Yet he repeated,
“You do not know whereof you speak—you are
like a child if you entertain a thought of victory.
And your fathers and brothers are mad to attempt
it.””

His pitying look changed to one of scorn at the
thought of those men who, instead of being the

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guard and protector of just such defenceless maidens
as she, were exposing them to dangers untold by the
defiant insurrections to which they were goading them-
selves.

“T do not for an instant believe, neither do any of
us believe,” said Miliscent, warming as she proceeded,
“that we can ever be conquered. God will not allow
it. He brought us over here to this country be-
cause we could not worship him in England, and do
you think—can you believe, that he would desert
us?”

Her face glowed, and her bosom heaved. She stood
erect before him, and as she waited for a reply, some
sort of an answer was necessary. He brought his
foot to the ground, and turned away abruptly to ex-
amine the distant landscape. As he did not believe
in the God of whom she spoke, he was at a loss for
words, yet unwilling to dampen such a faith as shone
in her eyes and glowed on her cheek. And for the
first time, strange to say, he felt a shadow of impend-
ing evil, too intangible and vague to be put into
words, settle over him, while the slender young daugh-
ter of the house of Barrett seemed a representative of
a mighty power, indefinable, but terrible, whose oppo-
sition was deadly. The doughty old farmer-soldier,
her grandfather, and others like him, who were putting

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themselves to the front with their insubordination,
loomed up now with a hitherto unknown quality that
was to be respected if not feared.

Finding himself in such a predicament as to experi-
ence this uncomfortable sensation, he dashed out the
first thing that came in his head, and glad to find a
reaction in his mind as he proceeded, he said abruptly,
“Well, then, if you persist in your rebellion, you bring
its consequences on your own head. The king is not
to be blamed in that event.”

“The king!” retorted Miliscent scornfully; “talk
not to me of kings. We want no king but God. He
is merciful, and does not grind his creatures to the
dust. If we die, why we must. Better so than to be
slaves.” She turned away, her bosom panting with
suppressed feeling, and her eyes flashing with scorn,
yet her lip trembled as if her woman’s heart had borne
all it could.

“Stay, Mistress Barrett,” cried the young officer,
stepping to the flat door-stone beside her, ‘my words
seem cold and hard, I know. I was only endeavoring
to warn you. You have, I know, much influence in
this home and this village, and you might even now
turn the tide of bitter feeling into something more
reasonable and befitting your condition.”

“ And I would not turn my little finger to influence

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72 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

one of our brave townsmen to aught but deadly com-
bat and resistance to our foe, King George, and all
you whom he sends over here to oppress us,’’ she flung
at him over her shoulder. Then she turned swiftly,
and a beautiful and grave expression settled over lip
and cheek and brow, “Listen, sir; you do not seem to
know the stuff the men of Concord are made of. It is
because you wilfully determine not to know. I tell
you this is no child’s play at war, nor any sudden
determination to fight you, and tyrants like you, to the
death. We have grown for many long months and
years into preparation for it; we have prayed to God,
and we have held counsel together; we have studied
it all better than you, who are only occupied in don-
ning your gaudy coats and trappings.’’ She glanced
in derision along the brilliant surface of his uniform,
although, truth to tell, poor Miliscent had sore trial
with her feminine leanings toward the trickery and
splendor of fine apparel, not to admire it strongly,
and the bright face above it. Yet now she rose
superior to all such weakness, and her tone gathered
scorn, whereat the young Briton wilted perceptibly.
“You have no thought beyond your gay clothes and
gewgaws,”’ she said bitterly; “to you it is doubt-
less a pretty pastime to come over the sea to sub-
jugate poor farmers; but we—ah! you will find that

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Concord Town, and all our other towns, are full of
men, ay, and women too, who are fully prepared to
meet you. Sir,” she drew her tall and slender figure
to its full height, “I give you to understand that we
will fight till we die, but we will never give up to
you!”

“T believe you,’’ exclaimed the young man invol-
untarily, and with an admiration that he could not
conceal. “Well now, my pretty maid,’’ he took
refuge in a bantering tone to hide his real feeling,
“there is such a thing as a brave spirit, but no ma-
terial to work with. What will you do when your
ammunition gives out, as give out it surely will?
Our ships think nothing of crossing the sea; our arms
and accoutrements can never be exhausted. Why,
your men do not know how to make even a cartridge.
What will serve you then? I give you a tough ques-
tion to answer.”’

“We will make good use of our powder-horns and
our bullets,’’ said Miliscent calmly; ‘‘and we will
shoot any invading enemy just as we shoot fierce and
hungry bears that molest us.’’

“That would be cruel in the last degree,” ex-
claimed the young man. “At least, if you are to
slay us all, do it, I pray, in a civilized manner.’”’
He suddenly turned and swept the ground with his

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74 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

gaze. “Ah, I have it,” and he picked up a pine stick,
quickly, with deft strokes with his pocket-knife,
he fashioned it to a shape suiting his fancy, then
thrust his hand into the breast-pocket of his coat,
and drew out a letter. Across its back was the
superscription in a woman’s hand; on the front was
the big red wafer that had sealed it closely. The
young officer whirled it open, searching for a blank
space. ‘‘My mother’s letter,” he said, and a shade
swept over his mobile countenance. ‘‘I thought to
find a clean bit to tear off.”

“Stay,’’? begged Miliscent, with a pang at thought
of harm to the mother’s letter, “I will get you a
piece of paper.” She ran into the house, and came
back, bringing it, and a pair of scissors from her
work-bag.

“You are a good girl,’’ said the young soldier,
shutting up the letter with emotion. “I have been
reading it again. My mother says, ‘My son, re-
member to keep your feet from evil ways, and be
not led by your companions into uwught that would
bring discredit to your family name—or to your
early training.’ Ah! if she knew in what company
I am thrown, and how all evil is around me, she
would realize that I had need to keep this letter.”
He folded it close, and set it back carefully within

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mash

 

AER

 

MILISCENT BARRETT AND THE BRITISH OFFICER,

‘She leaned over to allow no movement of his to escape her.”

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ONE LITTLE CARTRIDGE. aS

his pocket, this time taking the precaution to en-
close it in his leathern wallet.

“‘But you can keep from being led into evil,
though it may be around you,’’ said Miliscent,
her thoughts on the absent mother, doubtless this
moment praying for her boy. ‘‘You surely can
follow her entreaties.’’

“ Ah, you little know,’’ said the young man sadly,
and his bright head drooped. ‘‘ Well, let us get
to this killing business,’’ he exclaimed suddenly,
by one of those quick transitions in which, from de-
jection, his buoyant spirit rose; “now, it is like
this.” He seized the paper and the scissors from
her slender fingers, and rapidly twisted the former
over the shapely pine-stick until it suited his fancy.
“If you are determined to kill us, let it be by
some humane process, and not like so many wild
beasts of the forest.’

Miliscent, with dark eyes dilating, drew near.
He could not see her above his bent head that, ab-
sorbed as he was over his work, he did not lift.
Her red lips parted, and she held her hand over
her heart to still its beating, as she leaned over to
allow no movement of his to escape her.

“ There,’’ he paused for its inspection, and held
up the finished article, like a boy pleased with

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his work, and smiled saucily into the face above
him, now intrenched in its accustomed expression,
though with every iota of color fled; ‘‘that is the
way we make our cartridges,” he cried, waving it
before her, as Captain James Barrett drove up to

the house-place.

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Vv.

THE OLD TOWN IS GETTING READY FAST.

HE conflict of arms, that ultimate struggle that
should once for all determine the governing
power and vouchsafe, or deny, to the colonies the
rights of freemen, was not much longer to be delayed.
The sky was already tinged with that glow that was
to proclaim the dawn of American liberty, and to
usher into the world of nations a new republic.
Events had been rapidly marshalling their forces
to an inevitable conclusion. Affairs were becoming
so complicated by the continued oppression of the
Province, without apparent reason other than a de-
termined and deliberate desire to oppress and to
enslave, that there was no evading the question of
liberty or slavery. The situation had become in-
tense and dramatic, and allowed of no greater delay
in parleyings or entreaties. Either the colonies must
stand by their continued utterances of belief in the
God, to worship whom in freedom and truth they had
come across the sea, and defend their rights as free-

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78 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

men, or they must take the alternative, and yield.
There was no middle course now.

So Old Concord men thought, and so had they
spoken, making themselves many times in the past,
as they well knew, marked rebels for future retribu-
tion when King George became victor. Seven years
before, in 1767, the citizens of Concord had come out
boldly for liberty, failing not to express their senti-
ments at the offensive stand of the British parliament.
Accordingly “the town had instructed its represen-
tative to oppose the operation of the Stamp Act,
and to unite in all Constitutional measures that
might be taken to obtain its repeal.” And two
months later, in December, “the selectmen were
chosen a committee to consider and report on these
measures, which threaten the country with poverty
and ruin.” After accepting their report, the town
voted “to encourage industry, economy, frugality,
and manufactures at home and abroad, and to pre-
vent purchasing so much as we have done in foreign
commodities.” Thus did Old Concord early fire the
torch of Liberty.

And she kept the flame burning steadily and high
through all the five years thereafter; so that when in
1772 the address of the citizens of Boston on the 2oth
of November, concerning the state of distress in which

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the Province was plunged, came before the town, it
awoke a spirited response. And the reply, prepared
by the committee with instructions to the representa-
tive of the town, “after being very coolly and delib-
erately debated upon, was unanimously accepted in
full town-meeting.” So much for those early days,
when to speak and to act, and to fire the hearts of
others to patriotism, was to be a leader indeed. We
shall see how she lived up to her teachings.

“Debby,” cried Miliscent, springing into the little
old kitchen of the Parlin cottage (her sunbonnet had
fallen from a face pale with excitement, but lumi-
nous from her splendid dark eyes), — “I want you
to come home with me at once.”

It was the time of sudden summons, the air of every
day was charged with excitement, and Debby did not
look surprised nor question why.

“Can I, mother?” she appealed to Mrs. Parlin,
hurrying “from pillar to post,” as she always ex-
pressed it, now coming in from the woodshed.

“Ves,” said Mrs. Parlin with a quick look at Milis-
cent’s intense face. She threw down her load of
kindlings in the wood-box behind the stove, and
shook her apron free of the chips. “I know it’s for
something special,” with another lingering gaze into
the pale face.

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80 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

For answer the tall girl went swiftly up to the
mother’s side. The lovely color spread over cheek
and brow. “Forgive me for not telling you, dear
Mrs. Parlin,” she said; “it is a secret. If you will

” she implored.

only trust me,

“Tl trust you, Miliscent, wherever you are,” said
Mrs. Parlin heartily. “Debby shall leave her work
and go.”

“This very minute,” cried Debby, tearing off her
apron to hang it behind the door; and taking out a
clean blue-and-white checked one from the table
drawer, she hastily tied it on, feeling now well dressed
indeed. ‘Mother, don’t you touch to spin my stent.
I’ll do it all to-morrow. Promise me.”

“T won’t touch your wheel,” promised Mrs. Parlin.
“T can’t; for I’m up to my eyes already with work.
Go along, child; it’s all right.”

“May she stay all night?” begged Miliscent, her
arm around her friend. “Say she may, Mrs. Parlin,
do.”

“T suppose she might as well,” assented Mrs. Par-
lin. “Yes, yes, go along, Debby. Only be home
bright and early in the morning. Then you'll have to
fly to your spinning in good earnest.”

Debby tied on her sunbonnet, not without a good
glance in the cracked looking-glass in the corner, and

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throwing on her shawl, she ran off with her friend, with
whose long steps she could scarcely keep up.

“What is it?” demanded Debby breathlessly, as
they clambered the Ridge, and were now on the even
plateau back of the Felton homestead, ready to strike
into the cat-a-cornered trail. “Whatever in all this
world do you want me for in such a queer way?) Why
don’t you speak up, Miliscent Barrett?”

“Hush, hush!” warned Miliscent, drawing her cloak
tighter around her. “It is no time for speech till we
get safely home.”

“T should think you’d be safe enough in this wood,”
said Debby scornfully. “Only a bird or a squirrel to
hear, and they won’t tell.”

“Debby, I don’t dare to tell,” said Miliscent under
her breath. A red spot glowed on either cheek. She
seized Debby’s plump arm, and pulled her along faster.
“This wood may be full of treachery. How do we
know? One Tory Bliss or Tory Lee would ruin it all.
It is too much to risk. Don’t ask it. Wait till we get
home.” She struck off now down the slope; and
Debby, whose young feet were used to climbing, had
all she could do to follow the tall, slender girl, whose
swift foot-falls seemed not to press the ground.

At last Miliscent deserted the trail, and made a
déour through a meadow, finally reaching a small

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yellow house well set back in its own farmyard.
Here she paused. ‘You wait here, Debby,” she
said abruptly; and running nimbly up to the farm-
house and into the kitchen, she made the same re-
quest, only this time it was for the two girls of the
household. A request that was speedily granted, as
were all those made by a granddaughter of Captain
James Barrett; and Lucinda and Jane came out pres-
ently, and down the box-bordered path, tying on
their checked aprons, sure sign that they were going
visiting.

This performance was repeated at one or two other
houses. In some instances the girls were to follow
as speedily as possible when certain household tasks
were completed. But it was quite a goodly number
of Miliscent’s mates who hurried along with her to
her home on the old Barrett Mill Road.

“James has gone over to tell Perces Wood to
come,” said Miliscent to Debby, as the other girls
naturally fell back a little to let the two friends
walk together.

“Of course I knew you’d send for her,” said
Debby. ‘Seems if Perces was older’n we are some-
times, she’s so big and steady. Dear me, I’m thank-
ful to goodness, Milly, that we’re almost there;” and
she gave a yawn that was not weariness, but she

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ached in every bone of her body to know the reason
for such mysterious actions. “I can’t wait another
minute, seems to me, to know what you can want of

”

us.” The two girls were together now, walking with
their arms around each other as was their wont; so
Debby whispered this against the slender neck of
the taller girl.

“Poor dear,” said Miliscent fondly, “your patience
sha’n’t be tried much more;” and she turned her glow-
ing eyes affectionately on her friend. ‘“ How good
you are! Now, I couldn’t have done anything with
those other girls,” with a toss of the head toward
their mates in the rear, “if you’d have teased me
to tell. Just see how amiable and nice they come
along.”

“Tt wouldn’t have done any good if I had have
teased,” remarked Debby calmly; “that I well knew,
when you looked like that, Milly. Well, I’m thankful
to gracious that we’re most there, and the secret
can be told.”

“T can’t bear not to tell much longer,” cried Milis-
cent suddenly. “Let’s start andrun. Come, girls!”
she called back to them in her high, clear voice.

A wild chase now ensued down the road, past
Captain James Barrett’s homestead to Miliscent’s home
beyond. Into the house that seemed pervaded by

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84 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

an intense though quiet excitement, the girls flew
led by Miliscent and Debby. Mrs. Barrett, calm and
pale, met them.

“You're to go into the keeping-room,” she said.
“Then you better button the door to keep the chil-
dren out. When my back’s turned, I can’t answer
for them. Button the door after you, Milly.”

“No fear but I will, mother,” said Milly. “Come,
girls.”

No need to tell them. Every one scuttled in like
rabbits, and turned to face her, with wide expectant
eyes. She slipped the wooden button into place, then
set her back against the door, and surveyed them all.
“Girls,” her voice throbbed with excitement, yet it
was low and deep, “I’ve something to tell you that
will make you very glad. But first you must each one
promise solemnly you will never, never, mever, in all
this world, tell the secret until I give you permission
to. Promise, now, each one in line, beginning with
Lucinda.”

“T never’ll tell in all this world,” proclaimed
Lucinda, on a high key; “black and blue, hope
to” —

“Hush!” warned Milly; “what we say in this room
must be spoken low. ‘Traitors may be lurking beneath

’

the windows,” she glanced again at them — “a loud

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voice may warn them of our purpose. Begin again,
Lucinda.”

“T’ll never tell in all this world,” said Lucinda, in
a gruff, heavy voice, as effective in its way as the
high key; “black and blue, hope to die if I do, so
there!”

“Now, Susan,” said Miliscent nervously, to a thin
little maiden standing next, clasping and unclasping
her fingers in excitement, “do see if you can speak
low, and not make such a noise as Lucinda. Will you
promise? ” ,

Susan whispered out her promise in terms as deadly
as her neighbor’s. And Milly passed down the line
till she reached Debby, who stood last.

“T promise,” said that damsel loftily, with her head
well in the air. “I sha’n’t say any of our play words;
this is a different matter. But I won’t break my
promise.”

’

“JT know you won’t, Debby,” said Milly affection-
ately, ‘‘for you never did yet. Well, now, girls,”
and she drew a long breath, “you shall know the
secret.”

She picked up a pair of scissors that lay near
at hand on a table, and whirled them before their
eyes.

“See, see,” she cried, under her breath, ‘‘these will

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86 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

help to cut our way to liberty! O girls! we have
longed to be of use to our poor country struggling to
get free from the tyrant King George. Vow we can.
{know how to make cartridges /” she added in a whis-
per.

A silence like death fell upon the room. The girls
stared at her brandishing the scissors, and then at one
another. Suddenly the line was broken; and Debby
rushed out and threw her arms around Miliscent.
“O Milly, Milly, d@/7y/” she cried brokenly, having
no further words at her command.

“And if we can’t go and fight in their battles, we
can equip our brothers and fathers,” went on Milis-
cent, her pale face shining. ‘Oh! the battles are
surely coming. Girls, girls, we’ve so longed to help.
And now we can! Quick, draw up your chairs. I'll
sit in the centre, and let us get to work; I'll tell you
how —I’ll tell you how.”

She uttered all these commands in a short, quick
voice, tense with feeling. And presently the ring of
chairs was formed; and her mates, their cheeks still
rosy from their speedy run, and glowing with the
emotion that found an answering gleam in their
bright, clear eyes, were ready for the work that she
soon put within their hands, as Miliscent seized the
pine stick for the initiatory cartridge, and shaped

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the paper over it, cutting it with her scissors into
the requisite pattern.

They held their breath, and watched her silently.

“Oh, oh!” exclaimed Debby, wild with excite-
ment, and beating her hands together, ““we may not
be allowed to fight, but we can make the cartridges.”

Miliscent dropped her scissors to clap her hand over
Debby’s mouth. “Don’t speak the word again. You
may ruin all, I have told you once. Now, don’t one
of you breathe it.” Her eyes blazed, and she stood
tall and stern above the ring of chairs.

Then the latch of the door was rattled, and a voice
called softly, “ Milly.”

“Tt’s the children!” exclaimed Lucinda, in alarm.

“Open the door, Milly,” said her brother James,
with his face close to the crack. “It’s Perces and
J.” Whereat the wooden button was slipped back,
and there was great rejoicing as Perces and James
were drawn in.

It was now but the work of a few moments to get
them all busily occupied; and while the fingers flew,
Miliscent divulged the whole of the secret whereby
she and her mates were to help the brave men who
were to fight for liberty.

“See, see, I have the pattern,” she cried exult-
ingly, and holding it high. “He cut it with these

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very scissors,” and again she waved them. “ Oh,
thank the Lord for such an enemy as he!” and she
fell to busily on the paper, while the circle of bright
heads drew close about her fingers to see how it
was done.

“Milly wheedled him into telling,” said James,
whittling more pine sticks into the required shape of
the one formed by the young British officer: “I saw
the whole thing from the barn-chamber window.”

“Tell us, James, do; that’s a good boy,” begged
the chorus of girls. James needed no urging.

“Foolish boy,” said Milly, with heightened color.
“Don’t listen to him, but put your minds on the needs
of your country.”

“Foolish boy!” snorted James. “That’s what she
always says when I tell about the fellows and her.
And here I have been ever since, whittling the
pine sticks. Now I will tell, anyway, Milly.” And
he set the story forth to its last syllable; Debby,
all her soul in her fingers, turning, out of loyalty
to her friend, a cold shoulder toward him as she
worked.

While this meeting was in progress, another was in
session around the Common. It could not be said to
be disorderly, yet there was that temper pervading it
that boded ill for any interference. Almost to a man,

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there was an expression in face and attitude and ges-
ture that bespoke intense determination of that cooler
kind that results from a slow and cautious decision.
It might be that among this company, scattered here
and there, or massed in solid groups, or hurrying to
the scene with long and determined strides, was to
be seen occasionally the violent fellow whose quickly
fired blood was not mixed with its requisite, essential-
to-success power to control himself. He would bawl
to every chance comer, as he ran quickly on, gesticu-
lating wildly as he ran, “Down with King George’s
troops! Damnation to the Reg’lars !”

But he was quickly, and as effectually as the circum-
stances would permit, where the spirit of freedom was
growing rampant, quenched by the sober and sturdy
fathers of the town; and while some of these hot-
headed fellows were walked off to cool their blood,
others were well watched, lest their excited utterances
should break forth to the disadvantage of the temper
and mind with which the old town meant eventually
to win.

There was the inevitable small boy, of course, as
omnipresent then as now, dodging here and there,
and massing into groups wherever the crowd was
the thickest; crowing and chuckling with delight at
the noisier demonstrations of the turbulent element,

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90 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

and saddening when the excitement was in any way
checked or diminished. But there was a way our
fathers in 1774 had of making the small boy “mind
his p’s and q’s” that is conspicuously absent to-day.
Truth to tell, there was less of him in the earlier
day, but that should be no detraction to the skill of
knowing how to manage him. So, beyond their ex-
cessive exuberance over the situation, which after all
was a secret stimulus to the fathers and older broth-
ers, the small boy of Concord Town might be said,
on that day, to present no bad feature of the citizens’
meeting on the Common.

The women and girls, removed to a proper distance,
as was the correct feminine attitude of that day,
watched and waited, and hung about with bated
breath for any chance news that might befall as to the
progress of the meeting of the citizens thus congre-
gated. But amidst all the babel and excitement, the
women caught little but scraps of isolated talk, as
the groups waited with only a show of patience for
the messenger despatched in the early morning to
Boston for the latest news, who should have returned
by this time. And as the moments passed, and he
came not, the delay seemed to verify all those fears
raised by news of the recent “acts for the better reg-
ulation of the government of Massachusetts Bay”

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THE OLD TOWN GETTING READY FAST. Ql

that had so roused them to indignation but a short
time before.

At last, when it appeared impossible to endure the
suspense much longer, the small boy so largely in
evidence espied, what was not discernible to the other
eyes, a horseman wending his way down the old Bay
Road. He announced this fact by a shout that was
taken up by the rest of the boy throats with a hearti-
ness that communicated itself to the waiting men;
and presently, after what seemed a small eternity to
the impatient congregation, although the rider was
spurring on his horse faithfully, the animal, dripping
with perspiration, stood before them.

“What news? What news?’’ cried a dozen throats,
while the men massed around him, pale with excite-
ment and dread.

The rider, a young man of undaunted face and
mien, drew a long breath and hesitated, as if unwill-
ing or unable to speak.

“Give it to us to the last syllable,” thundered Mr.
Wood, forcing his way through the crowd, and laying
his large hand on the bridle. The young horseman
glanced into his face, and blurted out, “The Act
dooms us all. The council is to be appointed by
King George. All other civil offices, not filled by him
or his tools, to be done away with.”

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92 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

Mr. Wood started back with a deep groan as his
hand fell from the bridle. All his determination to
bear ill news was unequal to the blow.

“For God’s sake, fellow-citizens,” cried another
with white face, and sweeping the circle with his
flashing eye, “are we to be ground, lower than slaves,
to the dust? Can we submit tamely to this last act
of despotism that would reduce us to a slavery than
which there could be no meaner on earth?”

“No! no!” came from a hundred passionate
throats. “We will never give up our rights as free-
born Americans.”

“Our natural and charter rights have been invaded
over and over,’’ continued the speaker in a terrible
tone; “the hand of despotism has been over the
colonists with a constantly tightening grasp; the
harbor of Boston has been blocked up; bodies of
soldiery have desecrated the Province under one pre-
tence or another, but with one end constantly in
view, —our complete subjugation. And now these
two last Acts just passed by Parliament are intended
to, and will if submitted to, reduce us to that con-
dition that no power on earth could rescue us from.
Are we men to take all this and not resist? No.
To arms! To arms!”

He flung his hands to heaven, and raised his face,

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THE OLD TOWN GETTING READY FAST. 93

gaunt and terrible to look at. The men crowded
around him wild with passion, but stilled for a mo-
ment at the sight of his face, depicting so strongly
what each one felt was in his own breast. At last
the silence was broken, and one cry broke forth,
“Yes! yes! To arms! to arms! Away with the
‘tyranny of King George! We are free men!”’

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94. A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

VI.

A CRISIS.

iP was a terrible moment. The whole earth seemed

to open to Mr. Wood, and for an instant every-
thing turned black around him. He strove to speak,
but no words came; and he looked helplessly around
for that assistance that might turn the tide in this
evil crisis of reckless undoing of months and years
of wise and patient patriotic work. Was Concord
to ingulf herself and others in a wild and premature
passion that would only hurl the thunderbolts of war
upon unprepared and defenceless heads, and make
herself an object of pity and contumely for all his-
tory to deplore?

There were many citizens of like mind scattered
here and there in the turbulent crowd; but they were
swallowed up by the struggling, yelling mass, and their
voices drowned in the general tumult. There was not
an instant to lose.

“Gallop for your life!” gasped Mr. Wood into the
ear of the young horseman, “and bring Parson Emer-

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A CRISIS. 95

son.” And seizing by the flying jacket one of the
small boys, he bade him in a hoarse voice to run and
ring the meeting-house bell. Which the youngster,
wild for action of some sort, did as if by magic.

“One — boom — two — boom — boom!” out rang
the bell, clear and true. The crowd, thinking it the
signal for a massing together, perhaps for military
instructions, and in their excitement eagerly welcom-
ing any call, stopped shouting and yelling instantly,
and hurried off in irregular groups to the meeting-
house, just as the young parson, breathless from the
canter that landed him at the church-door, entered,
and commanded them to sit down.

It was impossible to evade him. Parsons were
obeyed in those days. Far ahead in authority of
lawyer or captain or schoolmaster, was the divine,
who seemed to stand so near to God that a wholesome
fear possessed all souls of breaking any commands
he might make. So the men silently settled into the
corners of the big square pews—some of them as
far off from the pulpit as they dared; while the young
parson rapidly mounted the pulpit steps, and took a
survey of the situation.

“Men of Concord,” he began in a high, clear voice,
and looking into their wild, excited faces with cool
eyes, “listen to the word of God from this sacred

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96 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

desk. What means this turbulent crowd? Think ye
that into hands that tremble with passion, and are
lost to reason and judgment, would be committed
the power to plunge this town, this good old town,
and the Province, into the red gulf of war before the
time is ripe! God knows the war is coming, and no
man among you will welcome it more gladly than I.”
He flung back his head, and brought his hand down
on the big Bible with a resonant clap. “For we are
not slaves! We are free as the air above and around
us, and so will we die. Ay, every soul of us will die
with our faces to the enemy before we will give up
our rights as men.”

They were cooling off now; and, hearing such war-
like words fitting into their boiling indignation, they
began to listen eagerly. And for a good half-hour
the reverend gentleman gave them wholesome advice,
squarely, without mincing or dilution, as to the pro-
priety as well as wisdom of following the leadership
of the citizens of the town who were empowered by
their fitness and the suffrages of the townspeople to
take the lead in all matters, and certainly in such a
momentous one as this before them, “Be ready for
war, and to quit you like men when you are ordered to
war,” he thundered, with another resonant clap on the
big Bible; “and think not for an instant that to em-

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4 CRISIS. 97

broil yourselves and us in a wild and unprepared on-
slaught on our enemies is war. Verily there is great
and pressing need that wisdom for each man shall be
added to his courage, that so our glorious old town
may gain her well deserved honors of war, whenever
she shall be called to action.” There was a movement
to depart, the passion in the faces of the men giving
place to quiet and steady resolve, more deadly to the
future peace of the enemy, and biding its time to strike.
But the parson had not done with them yet; for,
opening the big Bible, he read in a clear and
sonorous voice that woke the echoes in the old
meeting-house, a chapter from the Old Testament,
supplementing it with another from the New— well
chosen for the time and the occasion. And then,
shutting the leaves, he led them in a lengthier prayer,
with eloquent and impassioned fervor. After that
came the by no means short extemporaneous sermon.
When at last, about two hours later, they filed out
of the square meeting-house, they might be said to be
thoroughly subdued. What could not be accom-
plished otherwise to stay their brute force, the par-
son, by his liberal quotations from Holy Writ, not
to speak of his seventhlies and eighthlies that ever
commanded immense respect, had done, and done
well. And they filed out, and dispersed quietly.

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98 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“The fight’s begun! The fight’s begun!” a voice
yelled out beneath the window, — the window behind
which Miliscent and her mates were working, — as a
man ran down the old Mill Road. ‘“ Where’s Cap’en
Barrett?”

Miliscent threw down her scissors to the floor, and
sprang to her feet, her face white as death. James
jumped up with a whoop, and dashed out the door, his
pine stick in his hand,

“Oh, don’t stop working!” cried Debby in an awful
voice, so full of tears that there was no time to shed.
“If the war has begun, we must get these done,”
pointing to the little pile on the table. “Oh! why
didn’t God tell us how in time to make enough ” —

“Listen! one of us must go and carry these over
to grandfather’s, and if he has gone, must take them
to him wherever they are fighting,” said Miliscent.
“ Now that James has gone — poor boy!— he will feel
badly enough he forgot them.”

“T’ll go,” said Debby eagerly, jumping up with
panting bosom. “I can run the fastest; give them to
me.” She spread her blue-checked apron, and the
girls brushed the cartridges within it with hasty hands ;
and with Miliscent’s last injunction, “Give them to
nobody but grandfather,” ringing in her ears, she sped
off, first to Captain James’s house, and failing to find

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A CRISIS. 99

him, and no news save that he was down to the Mill-
dam, she fled along the Barrett Mill Road to the
town’s centre, her heart on fire with rapture that she
was really going to the battle and with aid to the men.

She was speeding along with head bent down over
her apron bunched out with the precious result of the
girls’ work, when suddenly she came full upon a per-
son running in the opposite direction. He put out
his hand to save her from the collision. “ Why,
Debby !” he cried in surprise, as he saw her.

“O Abner!” cried Debby breathlessly, her hair
blown about her face, “ where — where is the fight?”

“There isn’t any fight,” said Abner, setting his teeth
hard. “There was danger of the men’s losing their
heads, and getting their muskets to rush off to Cam-
bridge or Boston; but Parson Emerson has quieted
*em down now. Still, there’ll always be the fear of
it, as long as we hear this wicked news.” And he
told Debby what word the messenger had brought of
fresh evil piled upon the Province.

Every vestige of color fled from her cheek, and she
clinched her little brown hand.

“O Abner! I want to tell you; but I’ve promised,
and I must keep my word.”

“Ts it anything I can help you about?” asked
Abner eagerly, forgetting for one instant war and his

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100 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

country’s sufferings. “Do let me,” he begged in his
big, awkward way.

“Oh, no, no, no!” said Debby, unable to stop her-
self. She leaned for an instant on the railing. They
were pausing by the Spencer brook, on whose edge
stood the Barrett saw and grist mill. “No, no; do
not ask me, only tell me where I can find Captain
James. Oh, do tell me, Abner, I must see him at
once!”

“He is down in the Centre at the Common. I’ve
a message from him to take to his home, Debby;”
and not allowing himself to look again at her, he
strode off to set into a run.

Debby took two or three steps, then stopped im-
pulsively to look after his retreating figure. As she
did so some one jumped noiselessly up the little in-
cline by the bank beneath the bridge, and coming
up behind her, seized her arm.

“© Jim, how you scared me!’’ exclaimed Debby,
with a jump, and holding to her apronful of cartridges.

“What were you saying to Abner Butterfield?” de-
manded Jim, looking down the road where Abner’s
tall figure was fast disappearing. ‘Hush, don’t you
call him here, or I’ll kill him! I’ve sworn to be even
with him yet. What were you saying to him?”

“T sha’n’t call Abner Butterfield or any one else

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DEBBY AND JIM HASKINS.

*€*O Jim, how you scared me!’ exclaimed Debby.”

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A CRISIS. IOI

to help me,” said Debby in white scorn. “TI guess
I can take care of myself, Jim Haskins. Now go your
way, and I’ll go mine.” But he gripped her arm.

“Not so fast, Miss Debby Parlin; I’ve got done
with all your playing with me.”

“T’ve never been playing with you,” denied Debby,
in greater scorn than ever. Yet she saw in dismay
that Jim had been drinking, and she cast about in her
quick little mind how best to get rid of him quietly.

“Jim,” she said, “aren’t you ashamed, when our
country is in such need, to be acting so? Don’t stop
to talk to me, but go your way and be about your
business, whatever it is.”

Jim laughed, a joyless, harsh note, in her face.
“Didn’t I see you talking with Ab Butterfield a min-
ute ago? Time wasn’t so precious but that you both
had a plenty. I don’t care for the country.” He swore
a great oath that turned the girl’s cheeks whiter yet,
and made her eyes dilate. But she answered spirit-
edly, “Then you’ve a small, contemptible soul, and
not worth my talking to you here or any other place.”
And she tried once more to pass him.

For answer he seized her other arm, and shook it
smartly. The apron-end loosened where it was
doubled up, and down rattled several cartridges upon

the ground.

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102.) A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“Cartridges!” swore Jim, looking at them with
drunken eyes. Then he picked them up and exam-
ined them, meanwhile twitching roughly at the blue
checked apron to secure the rest. But Debby held it
with tight little fingers. “I’ll scream, Jim, and have
the town around your ears. Give me back my prop-
erty this instant.”

But he laughed again, and plunged into the thicket,
carrying the few cartridges with him, and snapping his
fingers at the girl as he disappeared in the bushes.

Debby rushed along in dismay. How unfortunate
that Jim, of all people, should see the cartridges!
Folks said that he had lately been acting queerly —
certain it was that he had taken harder to drink, and
that he had been heard to utter Tory sentiments on
more than one occasion, despite his outwardly violent
denunciations of Tory Lee and Tory Bliss. She re-
doubled her speed, and met Captain James just as the
men were released from the old meeting-house, and
were straggling off to their homes.

“Well, my little maid,” he said sadly, taking the
small heap of cartridges from her apron, while some-
thing glistened in his eyes, “we shall need them and
aS many more as can be made, God knows, before
long. But not to-day. Run home, child, and get to
work again with Miliscent.”

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A CRISIS. 103

There was no time to tell him of Jim’s discovery and
possession of the cartridges, for Captain James was
now immediately besieged on all sides. And thread-
ing her way out of the crowd, she ran backwards to-
ward the Barrett Mill Road. But she did not reach
her destination.

Jim, after leaving Debby, grasped the cartridges
tightly in his big sledge-hammer fist, and swore sev-
eral great round oaths to himself, in the bushes
that skirted the river, that he would be even with
the girl, Debby Parlin, who had so bewitched his
heart, and pay off at one and the same time the
deadly grudge, that still haunted him, against his
rival.

“My country — well, that zs a good one!” laughed
Jim, snapping his fingers again, “my country! What’s
she ever done for me, except to get us in this fix. I
vum! I’m for King George every time now, since
the turn affairs have lately taken. What’s th’ use 0’
kickin’ against the pricks? King George has got the
best of it. An’ now that officers are to be set over us,
an’ we not to be allowed to say boo to anythin’, why,
it’s easy to see th’ end. I’m goin’ to get what I
can out o’ it, an’ be on the right side o’ the fence.
Who knows but His Majesty’ll give me a commission.
Anyway, my pretty Debby, here’s a precious lot 0’

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104. A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

information against you; an’ that slab-sided old
scoundrel, Ab Butterfield, a-makin’ ammernition, an’
preparin’ secretly for war. The sooner I git news to
Cambridge, an’ spoil all your game, the better fer
me, an’ the worse for you and your busted cause, —
the rotten old rebellion agin the king.”

He scratched his head in a drunken sort of way,
undecidedly, then turned and struck out in a bee-line
down the river-edge, completely concealed from all
eyes, so he thought.

Debby ran on with light feet, retracing her steps,
but with a sad heart. All the excitement and glow
attendant upon the expectant fight had vanished, leav-
ing a dull little ache and fear of, she knew not what.
The dread of what Jim might do with the secret so
cruelly wrested from her was uppermost in her mind,
although the horror of suspense in the face of this last
tyrannical act of oppression weighed down her young
soul in bitterness to the earth.

“All that is left to us,” said Debby in the gloomy
depths of her own soliloquies, “is to work as hard as
we can, and make all the cartridges possible. It may
be that we women and girls will finally fight, and use
them up. Who can tell? At least we’ll make them,
and enough to last.”

Suddenly, with an unconscious influence, that was

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A CRISIS. 105

not altogether dread of meeting Jim upon the road,
she turned and ran off down the river, to follow its
bank, and come out beyond at a point somewhat near
the turn to the Barrett Mill Road. She ran as she
had before, with head down, wholly engrossed in her
own melancholy thoughts, now stopping to pick her
way more carefully along the river-bank, and again
occasionally to refresh herself with a sight of the
pure, gently flowing stream that seemed to breathe
peace to her soul.

It was at one of these pauses that she heard
voices; and with that involuntary caution that times
of trouble and danger had taught our impulsive
little maiden, she stopped instantly, and brought her
lithe body up to a listening attitude. It was Jim’s
voice that was speaking.

“T tell you, Squire, it’s a good chance to show our
allegiance to our king.”

The reply was slow and cautious, and too low
for Debby to catch a syllable, although she strained
every nerve to do so. From the position where she
stood, she could not see the face of either speaker.
Only she could have sworn to Jim’s voice, and she
could see his big leather boots as he carelessly
leaned on one foot. And there was his right hand
on a tree-trunk, as if supporting himself in a half

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106 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

intoxicated condition, —his right hand with the big
ring —the girls had always teased him about it when
Jim had been a better companion, and not so given
to drink, saying that it was brass, partly to awaken
his ire, as he had as bright a temper as the color of
his locks. The figure of the other man now and
then came partially into view as he moved restlessly
about. It was that of an older man, and he was
not Tory Lee. At last she ventured to move a few
steps nearer, still keeping well within the shadow
of the thicket.

“T tell you, Squire, I’m fer goin’ to once down to
Cambridge,” said Jim, in a dogged, guttural tone,
“an’ givin’ them warnin’ that our town is a-prepar-
ing to spring war on ’em. It'll be a rich thing for
them who want to stand well in the king’s good
books to be up an’ a-coming now.”

2

“Stay, my good fellow,” said the older man, in a
tone of remonstrance; “you say well that the time
is opportune, but it is best to observe caution. A
little lack of it would be disastrous indeed.”

“What do you want to have done?’’ asked Jim
still more doggedly. When he met this man unex-
pectedly, he considered himself a lucky fellow in-
deed, as who better could help him to understand

the safest and best way to dispose of his secret.

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A CRISIS. 107

But now he did not attempt to disguise his lack of
appreciation in the other’s slowness of action. “ Air
you goin’ to let th’ fellows arm themselves, an’ git all
ready, as you saw on th’ Common for yourself they
mean to do, before you give warnin’? How much
would that story bring then?’’? He laughed sar-
castically, and shuffled his big boots. ‘‘Hey, Squire
Bliss? ”’

It was Tory Bliss! Debby clasped her hands un-
til the nails pressed into the flesh, Oh! was God
to let her brave countrymen be hounded to death
by enemies within the border? She prayed to know
what to do, her lips not moving, while the quick
little ears watched like sentinels on duty, to hear.
“Softly, softly there, my good fellow,” Mr. Bliss
was sayin‘, propitiatingly. “Your heart and dispo-
sition are all right, but you must let me plan for
you. Do you goto Mr. Lee; he knows the lay of
the land perfectly, and how to inform the Council at
Cambridge. Do you go to him; he will probably
start at nightfall, and carry the news.”’

“Tory Lee!’’ exclaimed Jim with a smothered
execration.

»? cried

“Speak of Mr. Lee in that manner again,
Mr. Bliss warmly, “and I will give warning of you

as a turbulent fellow, and one given to drink, and

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108 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

have you locked safely in the jail, where you will
trouble no one.’’

“T didn’t mean no harm,” said Jim, cooling down
as the other warmed up.

“Then see that you obey instructions,’ said Mr.
Bliss curtly. “Do as I say; carry the news to Mr.
Lee, and give him the cartridges as proof. Then
you shall be rewarded, never fear, when, as I firmly
believe, the king will be intrenched in his power
over the Province, and these deluded fellow-towns-
men of ours will suffer the penalty of their foolhardi-
ness.’? He stopped suddenly, and without another
word stole softly off, and was lost in the covert.

“You’re a sweet one, ain’t you!’’ cried Jim in an
exasperated way after him, when there was no longer
any danger of being heard. “You’ll save your mean
skin, will you, until you’re quite sure it’s safe to
holler for King George, an’ send me troopin’ an’
trainin’ to that other old skin-flint, Tory Lee, whom
I’m not to call Tory yet, till it’s safe to be known
as a Tory. Confusion to you both!”

He slouched off a few feet,— and Debby drew a
long breath of relief, —turned, wavered on unsteady,
drunken feet, lurched a bit, and suddenly whirled
with an astonished cry around into the very face of
Deborah Parlin.

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THE SIDE OF THE KING. 109

VII.

“1 SHALL GO OVER TO THE SIDE OF THE KING.”

RS. PARLIN hung the kettle on the crane for
I the hot cup of checkerberry tea for supper
against the time that her good man should come
home. All through this long, troubled day she had
gathered what news she could from various persons
passing up the Old Bay Road, the thoroughfare con-
stantly travelled since the first settlers built one side
of it against the protecting hill. And she had res-
olutely “baked and brewed, boiled and stewed,” spun
and sewed, keeping the little cottage neat as a pin,
as was her wont, and filling the place in the world
God evidently intended for the women of 1775, with
no thought for the town’s centre and the news there
to be obtained.

“Glad am I that Debby is with Miliscent this troub-
lous day,” she said to herself; “for the child with her
love of country and eager mind would have been mis-
erable enough tied to her spinning-wheel. It is cold
comfort to a woman to sit with none but her own

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IIo 4A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

thoughts for company, though Heaven knows the
children are a blessing. But to a young creature like
Debby bursting with eagerness to be free, it is intol-
erable distress. Where the child got her nature, I
cannot see. Surely not from John or me.”

Mother Parlin never said a truer word. John Par-
lin was, his neighbors and townsfolk said, “the salt
of the earth,” meaning he was wholesome, and had
sterling qualities that would keep well. But he was
slow to exasperation, and as heavy-mannered as one
of his oxen, whose great brown eyes looked exactly
like his. And he had gone down in the village rec-
ords as “Sot as a mule,” the New England parlance
for having a will of one’s own. And Mrs. Parlin,
she that was Lyddy Thompson, was of the same
build, —square and upright, and honest in body and
mind.

Where little Debby of the peach-bloom and dim-
ples, and light dancing feet and sunny smile, with
the eager soul looking out of her laughing eyes that
could be fired with sudden purpose, ever came by it
all, was a mystery of mysteries. None of the other
children were like her. There was Johnny, more
lumpish than either father or mother had been at his
age, a boy of ten, who if he had enough corn-meal
griddle-cakes and doughnuts to eat, and a good store

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THE SIDE OF THE KING. III

of nuts laid by for winter nibbling, seldom cared to
stir from his beaten tracks. And Doris, the girl
who came next, seven years old, went soberly around
the kitchen and woodshed, in reduced pattern, like
her mother in feature and figure. And to wind up
the list, the baby was the roly-poliest little object,
just fat and stolid; calmly blinking at the world,
evidently intending to pattern after his immediate
predecessors when he got big enough to strike out
for himself on his own two feet.

But Mrs. Parlin did not waste much time over mys-
teries. It wasn’t her way to bother over them, having
enough to do to keep the daily work ‘down from
around my ears” she often said ; so now, as she filled
her kettle with fresh water from the well beside the
cottage door, she followed the course she had ob-
served all through the troubled day; rejoiced her soul
with thankfulness that Debby was with her friend, and
in the stimulating atmosphere of the Barrett house-
hold; was glad that things were no worse, and that
the lawlessness of the morning on the Common was
subdued, and that she and her family still had a
house-roof over them that they could call their own.
“Though how long that will be, Heaven only knows,”
she sighed.

Clearly, where everybody was necessarily reduced

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to such a state of constant worry as were the home-
steaders in the Massachusetts, or Old Bay, Province,
in the stormy days preceding the war of the American
Revolution, there was a place and a mission for such
good souls as Mrs. John Parlin, whose very existence
seemed to promise strength and solidity and repose
to the community.

Mr. Parlin strode heavily up the little path that led
by the enormous elm, within his enclosure, to the cot-
tage door. His wife met him with a mild and placid
brow. “Come in, John,” she said, with a kind hand
on his arm. “You're dreadfully tired. Doris, get
father’s slippers.”

“Ves, I am, Lyddy, and that’s a fact.” John Parlin
sank down heavily in his chintz-covered chair, that
creaked in every joint, as it had done for years from
the same cause. “And I shall be tired’n this before
long, I ’xpect. Wife, give me my dish o’ checkerberry
tea right here.”

“O father!” expostulated Mrs. Parlin, “ain’t you
going to wash up?” all her spirit of neatness quite in
alarm. “Doris, fill mother the tin basin with water,
and bring it and the towel.”

“No, I ain’t,” said Mr. Parlin decidedly; “not till
I’ve had a good drink of checkerberry tea, anyway.”
He held out his hand for the bowl, and drained it dry.

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THE SIDE OF THE KING. 113

Then he wiped his lips deliberately, and got out of his
chair, motioning Doris away, who was coming across
the kitchen with slow, heavy steps, bearing the wash-
basin and towel. “Bring it back,” he said briefly,
going into the woodshed for the wash-up, which was
always performed with conscientious and painstaking
deliberation. Then he came back, and drew up to the
humble repast now set forth on the table.

“There’s going to be a war, sure enough,” he said
calmly, and looking over his slice of brown bread to
his wife, with calm, bovine eyes; “so you and me,
Lyddy, ’s got to get ready for it.”

“Yes, I s’pose so,”

said Mrs. Parlin, with an air
of quiet assent that accepted the inevitable. “Well,
John, it is to be, and God will see us through it.”

Mr. Parlin nodded reflectively and returned to his
brown bread. “Give me the Bible, wife,” he said at
the conclusion of the meal, when she and Doris put
away the remains of the frugal repast, and swept up
the crumbs; “and we’ll have prayers.”

“T was thinking you’d tell me what’s been going on
to-day,” said Mrs. Parlin, pausing, broom in hand, a
moment; “seem’s if every one going by here had
dropped in with something worse’n the last one, and
I said to myself, ‘I’ll wait till father gets home, and
know the truth.’”

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'

For answer, Mr. Parlin asked abruptly, “ Where’s
Debby?”

“She’s over to Miliscent Barrett’s,” said his wife;
“JT told her she might stay all night. Miliscent came
for her this morning.”

Her husband looked around the kitchen as if miss-
ing something, with as much longing as his face ever
expressed; but there was an expression of relief, after
all, as he said briefly, “Well, reach me the Bible, wife,
and come to prayers.”

So the big old Bible, its leathern lids encased
in a dark red spotted calico cover, was lifted rever-
ently down from the shelf, and put on the father’s
knees; the tallow candle was trimmed, and John
and Doris folded their pudgy hands. Mrs. Parlin sat
decorously by her husband while he sonorously read
a long chapter, then knelt to offer a longer prayer.

After this was concluded, Mrs. Parlin reached
down her knitting-work, the long blue-yarn stock-
ing, and began to clack her needles. She did
not suggest again any communication from her
husband. Once expressed, such a thing was never
repeated. But she looked at him anxiously. He
was different to-night, that she clearly saw, from
any other home-coming. He looked up at last,
and saw her regarding him.

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THE SIDE OF THE KING. II5

“Send the children to bed, wife,’? he said. “I
want to talk with you.”

“Go to bed, Doris,’’ said her mother, “and you
too, Johnny. Good-night.’’

Both children went out, Doris across the hall,
over the landing of the stairs, to the little room
that jutted into the greensward, and Johnny to the
gabled loft above. The baby was already asleep
in the trundle-bed in the bedroom.

“Shut the door,’’ said Mrs. Parlin. ‘Now, John,”
as they were left alone by the fireside, ‘‘tell me all
that is on your mind; for that something is, and
weighing heavier than the coming war, there is no
manner o’ doubt.”

“You say truly, Lyddy,’’ agreed John Parlin;
‘“‘and yet ’tis occasioned by the war that has set
me to thinking so I scarcely know myself to-night.”

‘*T should give you a dose of boneset if I didn’t
know the troublous times had made so many folks
queer-actin’ and thinkin’,’? remarked Mrs. Parlin,
not relaxing her even and monotonous clack, but
making her blue rounds just the same, so that one,
looking on, might be said to see the stocking
grow. “Now, the sooner you get it off your mind,
whatever it is, John, the better you’ll feel.”

“T must lead up to it, Lyddy,” said her husband,

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116 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“easy like. You know I never could be driv. So let
me take my own way.” He put one foot slowly over
the other, and gazed at the fire a moment without
further speech.

Mrs. Parlin made at least three rounds on her
stocking. Then because, even to her slow nature,
some movement was necessary, she got out of her
chair, and went and looked at the clock in the corner,
taking a longer glance at her husband’s ruminating
figure on the way back.

“Yes, the war is surely coming, Lyddy,” at last he
said.

“T know it.”

“ And we’ve got to get ready for it, you and me.”

“You said that before.”

“Folks who have children,” observed John Parlin,
not noticing her remark, “have a sight to think of,
Lyddy, in these times that try men’s souls.”

Mrs. Parlin made no reply to this. Her husband
proceeded.

“Tf the war comes, and it is a-coming, what will we
do, Lyddy? Where’s the provision for our children?”

“We've got the same provision, I s’pose,” said his
wife, “as everybody else in this town has; just noth-
ing at all, when it comes to that. The war, when it
is once upon us, will use us all up alike; and if King

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THE SIDE OF THE KING. 117

George beats, why provision, if we had any, wouldn’t
be of any earthly good to us nor the children after
us.”

“That’s it,” said John Parlin gloomily, staring at
the fire; “we might as well be all dead then, and
that’s a fact.”

He continued to ruminate over this last idea; and
his wife, uncertain how far to interrupt him, clacked
away vigorously at her knitting, wondering at this
most unusual mood. The big cross-log cracked with
bright little snaps that proclaimed the penetrating
flame pushing its path into the heart of the hickory,
and lighting up the pewter on the dresser opposite.
Everything in the kitchen was outwardly bright and
cheery, except the figure of the farmer, who, as he
thought on, settled down in his chair with a depres-
sing droop, that, despite her habitual placidity, made
his spouse conscious of nervous little creeps down
her spinal column. At last she dropped the knitting
into her lap from sheer inability to keep still, and
said, “Now, John, tell me all without delay. What
are you thinking of?”

Her husband set down both feet to the floor, raised
himself in his chair, and looked at her long and de-
liberately.

“Lyddy,” he said, with that slow utterance that

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118 4 LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

gives token of the choice of each word, “I’ve always
been fer liberty and our rights, and I’ve been a good
citizen of this town, hain’t I?”

She kept her eyes on his face, unable to reply. A
vague notion of all the war-talk having gone to his
head, and unsettled his wits, crossed her mind; but
one glance at his clear blue eyes, and she dismissed
the idea, and held her breath while he went on, —

“Well, Lyddy, I’ve stood it day in and day out,
working and toiling, and praying and hoping. I'll
live on bread and water all my life, and you know
it, Lyddy, to live and die a free man. But to-day,
Lyddy, when that accursed news” — his big face was
very white now — “‘came, and I see how useless and
wicked ’tis for those of us who’ve got children to pro-
vide for, to hold out longer, when King George has
got us body and soul, why, Lyddy,” he drew in his
breath hard, and spoke through his set teeth, “I’ve
made up my mind to go over to the side of the king.”

The woman sprang from her chair. “O John! stop
where you be. Stop, not another word! See, I’l] go
down on my knees to you, but you shall take that
back.” She slid down to the floor, and clasped her
hands over his hard and knotty ones. ‘“ You’re not
well,” she cried, crouching low and fondling him,

while she writhed on the floor. “VYou’re all worn

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THE SIDE OF THE KING. 119

out; this is the reason you say such dreadful words.
Come to bed.” She essayed to draw him out of the
chair as she tried to regain her feet.

“Yes, I be, Lyddy; well as ever I was in my life,”
declared her husband solemnly. “You let me be.
Tve ben thinking this all out to-day, and it’s best said
to-night. Get up and set in your chair. You must
hear me.”

“No, I’ll kneel to you; it’s the best place for me,”
she cried, “so I may be able to turn you from such
speech, when it shows you how your wife can beg on
her knees. O John! take back those words. Better
to struggle, to face death, ay, to die, us and the chil-
dren, than to hear such words. Oh, my husband!”

She did not cry — far worse was it to hear the tear-
less sobs; and John Parlin turned his face away, and
his big hands shook.

“Lyddy,” his voice was determined and low, like
that of a man whose mind is made up, “TI tell you sol-
emnly that the struggle is useless. We have no right
to condemn our children to what will surely come if
we persist against the king. Our farm will be confis-
cated, and our children will be beggars.”

“Tet such a fate come.” She raised her head
proudly. “Beggars we may be, but we will never eat
the bread of traitors.”

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120 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

He winced at the word, but went on doggedly,
“And to hold out at such a time, believing that God
himself has left us no alternative, I know is down-
right wickedness. I shall go over to the side of the
king; there is no more to be said.”

She sprang to her feet once more, and drew away
from him. She was a large, square woman, and now
in the bright firelight she seemed to tower over him
from a terrible height.

“John Parlin,” she said, “when I married you I
gave my faith and my love to a man who feared God
and loved his country. I’ve served you faithfully,
John, as God will testify in the last great day. This
night you have said words that have made a bar be-
tween us that nothing can lower until you take them
back.” She stepped forward, lighted another candle
from the one on the table, and left the kitchen, leaving
him immovable and stiff as he sat staring into the
fire.

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WHERE IS DEBBY? 121

VIII.

WHERE IS DEBBY?

E was there in the gray morning light when

she came out of the little room, where alone

with Doris, fast asleep in fat, pudgy innocence of
trouble or sorrow, she had fought out her battle. Toa
woman like Lyddy Thompson, brought up in the most
rigid belief that by love of God and of country, one
held to all that made life endurable or honorable,
the shock that she had received had dealt a most
awful blow. Her hair did not turn white, it is true,
in this single night; but her vital force had suffered
in a way that she knew meant for her to be there-
after a different woman. And she arose from her
knees where at intervals she had thrown herself dur-
ing the long hours of her agony to bury her face
in the patched bedquilt in that voiceless entreaty
that is swifter than any words, and passed out to
take up her round of daily work with full realiza-
tion of being this changed creature. All the blood
of her ancestors, who had fought to plant the Colonies,

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122 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

who had struggled to maintain them, and who by
prayer and precept had died exhorting their children
to so fight and struggle, now seemed to assert itself
in her throbbing veins. She shut her lips tightly,
and with a marble front, that had hitherto been stolid
and comfortable placidity, she proceeded to the duty
nearest at hand.

Her husband turned heavily in his chair, and
scanned her from beneath his thick light eyebrows,
and for the first time in his life almost started in
surprise. To any one who had seen Mrs. John Par-
lin the day before, it would be impossible to believe
the matron now performing the household tasks to
be the same woman. John Parlin stared at her as
he had previously stared at the fire, but she ap-
peared to take no notice of him. When the break-
fast was ready, she simply announced the fact, and
drew up her chair, and tied on the baby’s eating-
apron with an unmoved face.

“Father, come to breakfast,” said Doris. Johnny
was already in his place, with his eyes on the plate
of hot smoking buckwheat griddle-cakes.

“T don’t want any breakfast,” said Mr. Parlin in
a gruff voice.

Mrs. Parlin folded her hands, and offered the grace
herself. An observance that astonished the children

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WHERE IS DEBBY? 133

so much that Johnny transferred his attention from
the griddle-cakes to his mother’s face, on which he
hung open-eyed and open-mouthed.

“Eat your breakfast,” she said. So both children
betook themselves to their plates and mugs. The baby
slapped his spoon into the molasses cup, and succeeded
in overturning it, which made a diversion, and a relief
to the overstrained woman, as it necessitated quick.
movement on her part for repairs, and took her out
of the reach of curious eyes. When she came back
with the cloth to wipe up the sticky mess, her husband
was gone from the chair. She showed no sign of
feeling at the discovery.

“Father hain’t eaten any breakfast,” said Doris,
laying down her knife and fork in slow but decided
amazement. ‘“He’s gone out.”

“He hain’t eaten any breakfast,” repeated Johnny,
between his mouthfuls of dripping cakes.

“You eat your own,” commanded Mrs. Parlin in
a stern, cold voice. “Did you hear me tell you? I
speak but once, you remember.”

They ducked their heads, and again addressed them-
selves to their plates, with an occasional side glance
at the tall, stern woman whom they had never seen as
their mother, and finished the meal in silence.

Everything was attended to as usual, with the most

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124 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

scrupulous care. And Mrs. Parlin at last sat down
to the mending-basket and an overstocked supply
of sewing. And then for the first time she began to
wonder why Debby was late, and what could have
kept her from obeying the injunction to be home
bright and early; for the girl never disobeyed the
slightest wish of father or mother. All through the
terrible night had been the one only cause for thank-
fulness that the girl, the loved one of the household,
had been saved the shock of hearing from the father’s
own lips that he was a traitor to his country. “It
would have killed her,” the mother moaned within
her parched and silent lips. But now the mother,
her heart wrenched at one awful strain away from
its natural abiding-place, turned with unspeakable
longing to the bright presence who was the light and
comfort of the house, and she cried aloud once to
herself as she sat there, “ Deborah—O Deborah!”’

But the clock ticked on, and she came not. At last
footsteps were heard, light and quick. Mrs. Parlin’s
heart gave a great leap of dread now that the event-
ful moment had really arrived; and she sewed ner-
vously as a light figure, too swiftly to distinguish it,
came around the cottage.

“Mrs. Parlin,’ called Miliscent Barrett, coming
quickly into the kitchen, “why did you not let Debby

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WHERE IS DEBBY? 125

stay all night? I want her to come up again this
morning.”

Mrs. Parlin’s work dropped to her lap, and she
stared in speechless amazement out of a white face
into the blooming one of the girl.

“Tf it troubles you to let her go—oh! are you ill?”
as the woman sent out her long arms and beat the air
with her hands. “ Debby —come, come quickly —
your mother!”

“Where is Debby?” gasped the mother; “where is
my girl, my all? Where is Debby?”

“Where is Debby?” repeated Miliscent, her own
cheek blanching, “why here, of course. She left my
house yesterday afternoon to go down to the Common
to find my grandfather, on an errand; and she came
home, didn’t she? She didn’t come back to us.”

“She is not here — she never came back!”

Miliscent was only conscious that a tall figure stood
over her calling in wild accents on God to restore her
daughter, that she, Miliscent, rushed out of the kitchen
and summoned the children to stay with their mother,
while she prepared to run on anguished feet up to
Captain James for help in this distressful moment.

““What’s the matter?” A voice that came from the
other side of the stone wall dividing Mr. Parlin’s farm
from that of his next neighbor caused her to look

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126 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

up into the yellow face, under its big inevitable hand-
kerchief, of Aunt Keziah.

Miliscent was not afraid of her, as were most of the
village young people, nor had she any particular rea-
son for dislike, not being a neighbor. She recognized
gladly the fact that here was a woman who probably
could look after the half-crazed mother better than two
small frightened children. So she said quickly, “O
Miss Felton! Mrs. Parlin is sick—she has had bad
news. Will you go in and stay with her while I go
for help?”

“Yes, yes,” grunted Aunt Keziah, not ill-pleased at
an opportunity to display her medical lore ; ‘as soon
as I have got my herb-pot, which, thank fortune, is
ever steeping by the fire, I will be right over.”

She disappeared within her own house before Milis-
cent could remark that the case was not one for medi-
cine save that required for an anguished heart; and the
girl, with her own misery of the dread of ill befalling
her best-loved friend haunting her every step, hurried
on, the hot August sun beating down on her unpro-
tected head, for she had dropped her sunbonnet in
the Parlin cottage.

Where was Debby?

“Hal” Jim Haskins had exclaimed, and seized
both of Debby’s supple wrists before she had time

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WHERE IS DEBBY. 127

to move, “been listening, have you?” He brought
his drunken face so near to the girl that she recoiled
in disgust. “Well, you shall have no chance to tell
what you’ve heard.”

“Jim,” cried Debby in a passion, “unhand me
this instant.” She shook his hard hands in her
efforts to get free. But he was too far gone in
drink and the fury of passion at having all his plans
thrown out by this girl, Abner Butterfield’s sweet-
heart. It was gall and wormwood to him, and a
thousand times worse than having it found out by
any one else. He took both of her hands in one of
his big ones, and held them as in a vice, with the
other whipping out of his pocket a leathern string.
“Here you'll stay, ha, ha! You needn’t think
your news, that you’ve so cleverly got, will do any
good.” With a few swift passes (Jim was quick and
handy at a knot) he had her safely bound, her hands
behind her, to a tree, the cruel string cutting into
her young and tender flesh.

Debby gathered up all her soul into one mighty
scream; but she regretted it the minute afterward,
for he turned suddenly from regarding his work,
pulled out his red cotton handkerchief, and thrust
it in her mouth. “Now you can scream all you -

want to, or try to, Miss Debby Parlin.” He gave a

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128 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

parting laugh, and then loped off, plunging deeper
into the thicket, and was lost to view.

How long she stood there before she was con-
scious of making any effort to free herself Debby
never knew. She was in such a dense forest, with
the underbrush thickly filling up the interstices, that
there was no opportunity to tell by the sun’s rays,
for all was dark and cool. She was first brought to
herself by the stinging pain in her hands, and an
intolerable sense of anguish from the gag in her
mouth. It was useless to pull against the leathern
string and struggle to be free, for every movement
only strained it deeper into the flesh. She at
last, after several worse than useless attempts, re-
signed herself to waiting until some one who missed
her should come to her release.

It was madness to think of word being carried to
Tory Lee, who would deliver it to the council at Cam-
bridge, warning them of preparations for warfare, and
possibly an uprising by the people. Debby felt her
brain swim at the thought of what the effect of those
words might be, if only to anger the leaders of the
Regulars, and swell the already aggressive spirit of
the enemy to more oppression.

“T will die, but I will make one more attempt,” she
determined; but the swoon that it produced made her

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WHERE IS DEBBY? 129

see, when her brain cleared and she came to herself,
that it must not be repeated.

It must be near nightfall now. Yes, the birds were
twittering about her poor head in that sleepy fashion
that bespeaks the nest and the folded wing, as they
fluttered to their resting-places. Debby closed her
eyes and tried to pray. The good Father would
take care of her, and let some one find her. But
that was not so much matter now, since it would
soon be too late to keep Tory Lee from his mission.
Oh! she would pray once more for the evil she
feared to be averted. “Send some one, O God! for
Christ’s sake.” She looked up, and saw a man re-
garding her with a fixed and curious expression as he
stood behind a tree. The next instant he had torn
the red cotton handkerchief from her mouth, and was
cutting the leathern thongs.

“Poor little one!” he said; and he made an invol-
untary movement as though he would smooth the
rings of sunny hair lying across her hot and aching
brow, then his hand fell away, and he stepped back,
and told her she was free.

It was exquisite torture at first for Debby to move
her arms, so long bent back in their unnatural
position, and she nearly fainted from the trial, as
she sank upon the ground; seeing which the stranger

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130 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

ran lightly to the river-bank, and brought water in his
hat, with which he laved her face and poor arms
until she opened her eyes. Then he withdrew as
before, and regarded her closely. He was dressed
in peddler’s attire, having his pack resting against
the tree behind which he had first seen the girl.
He was tall and slender, now standing quite erect;
his head, on which was a wig of long, straw-colored
hair, thrown easily back. “What wickedness is
this,’ he cried in deep, rich tones of indignation,
“that has been perpetrated here? Do not try to
speak, poor girl;” for Debby was making ineffec-
tual efforts to move her poor swollen mouth. “Enough
that I have been able to rescue you.”

‘*Oh, I thank you, kind sir!’’ mumbled Debby,
trying to regain her feet. The peddler sprang
forward, and put forth his hand to help her, with as
much deference as if she had been a duchess. The
hand struck her particularly; it was long, with
tapering fingers and nails that certainly looked like
those of no peddler who had hitherto crossed her
path. She gave a little start, but quickly recovered
herself. It was— it must be—a British spy in dis-
guise. She must be on her guard about giving in-
formation.

“Can I—can I—help you?” asked the peddler

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WHERE IS DEBBY? 131

awkwardly, and speaking in a high, squeaky voice.
“T am going through the country, miss, at my
trade of selling goods to the farmers’ wives. If I
might see you safely from this wood to your home,
for it has been perilous enough for you here.” He
glanced about, as if for sight of lurking foe, and
waited for her to speak.

“I can get along,’’ said Debby, with a hot flush
rising on her white face; and she staggered a few
paces off, then stopped a moment by a friendly tree.

He did not offer to assist her again, but waited till
she should recover freedom of motion. Nor did he
attempt to question her; but turned his back on her,
and seemed to be absorbed in contemplating his pack,
resting where he had left it. Soon Debby essayed
again to move on.

“T will follow you,” said the peddler, leaving his nat-
ural tones into which he had been betrayed when lost
in pity over her condition, and addressing her in the
squeaky voice as before, “at a distance, miss; then if
you need assistance I can give it.” He slung his
pack over his shoulders, which now looked bent and
worn, and dragged on hastily a pair of old black cot-
ton gloves, although the day might be said to be un-
necessarily warm for such an addition to a peddler’s
costume, then motioned to her to lead the way.

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132 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

Debby went off very well for some paces. Suddenly
she turned swiftly, went back to the peddler’s side, and
put out her bruised little hand. “I thank you, sir,”
she said, in a sweet, serious way, and raising her blue
eyes to his face, “for saving my life, and for all your
kindness.”

““May God bless you, miss!” (again the stranger
forgot to care for his voice, but he soon recovered
himself with a cough. He took the outstretched little
hand in one of his, and covered it for a moment with
its black-covered mate), “and keep you from all harm
forever. Now lead on, please,” he squeaked forth
suddenly ; and the two went forth, the peddler slouching
along well to the rear, his head bent as if wholly oc-
cupied with thoughts of his travelling gains; while
Debby, as her wonted strength returned to her with
the exercise, stepped off faster and faster, her mind
laying rapid plans meanwhile.

“Tt won’t ever do to go to Captain James’s house
now, nor to Milly’s,” she said to herself. “If he is
a spy, and oh, he must be — but how beautiful he is!”
Then she pulled herself up with a remorseful twinge.
How could any British young man be beautiful, even
if he had wondrous dark eyes and long taper fingers?
He was good, certainly. Debby was glad her con-
science would allow her to admit that, for he had

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WHERE IS DEBBY T34

saved her from a terrible fate; indeed, she thought,
she must have died before morning but for him;
perhaps there yet was time to keep Tory Lee from
taking his message. At this thought she struck into
a run. But where? She must not let the peddler,
whoever he might be, find the way to Captain James’s;
yet it was imperative that some trusty person should
hear her news about Tory Lee as soon as possible.
Where? Oh, to Abner Butterfield’s, of course! His
tidy farm, where he lived with his widowed mother,
was but a mile or so farther on; and if she could only
get this peddler to put aside his care of her, she should
do quite well enough, and reach there safely. But
no; there he was—she could see in the turn in the
road, as she glanced backward— coming on. He did
not seem to run, but to get over the ground all the
same easily enough with long, masterful strides that
kept about the same distance between them as at
starting; and the distance was traversed in this fash-
ion, till at last the candle twinkled out from a win-
dow of the old brown farmhouse set back from the
road that was known as the “Butterfield Place.”
Debby stumbled up the box-bordered path to the
kitchen door. She could hear the peddler stop out in
the road opposite the house and wait, as she rapped
with a tremulous hand. Then the candle was with-

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drawn from the window, and heavy steps sounded in
the entry, and the green door was thrown wide.

“Why, Deborah Parlin!” the peddler could hear
Abner Butterfield’s mother say in her high-keyed
voice; “for the land’s sakes, what brings you clear

over here? ”

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AT THE BUTTERFIELD FARM. 135

IX.

AT THE BUTTERFIELD FARM.

« ABNER!” Debby did not heed Mrs. Butterfield’s
exclamations nor her look of surprise, but
rushed past her into the kitchen’s depths.

“Why, he isn’t to home,” said his mother, coming
back to set the candle on the table and look at her
curiously. She knew well enough her son’s love for
this little blooming damsel, for he had freely confided
it, but not by any means so sure was she that it was
returned. Indeed, it had been hinted to her many
times that Deborah Parlin looked down on Abner,
and made fun of him, even to his face, for his big
hands and feet and awkward ways; and Mrs. Butter-
field had tossed her head, and said she guessed her
boy needn’t to go seeking very hard for company.
When he got ready to settle down and get married,
she’d lay a shilling he could have his pick from the
best girls in Concord Town. So now she eyed Debby
sharply, and with no particular favor, waiting for her

to speak.

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136 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

But Debby did not seem to notice aught amiss in
face or manner. “O Mrs. Butterfield!” she seized
the good woman’s arm, thus bringing into view the
poor cut hands and wrists, along whose surface little
drops of blood had trailed; “where is he? I must
see him.”

“Oh, my good gracious me!” ejaculated Mrs. But-
terfield with a sharp look at them; “ what’s the matter
with your hands?”

“Nothing,” said Debby, twitching back to tuck them
under her apron. “Never mind. Where is Abner?
Oh, dear! I tell you, Mrs. Butterfield, I mst see him.”

“He isn’t to home I told you,’’ repeated Mrs. But-
terfield testily ; “but, you poor child, lemme take your
hands — they’re all cut up dreadful. I must wash ’em,
and bandage ’em up for you in opodeldoc.”

“JT don’t in the least mind my hands,” cried Debby
crossly, with another twitch; “and you will oblige me,
Mrs. Butterfield, by not mentioning ’em again.” And
in stalked Abner, to find his mother flushed and com-
bative, and Debby in a pretty pet, standing before
her.

She flew to him at once. ‘ Abner,” she said in an
authoritative way, vastly becoming to her, thought the
young man, but it made his mother grind her gums in
the absence of many important teeth, to see it. “I

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AT THE BUTTERFIELD FARM. 137

must speak to you at once on a very important
matter.”

Abner looked at his mother, who stood her ground
valiantly. Debby went swiftly up to her. “I want
you to forgive me, Mrs. Butterfield,” she said, “for
speaking so; but I’ve been through a good deal,
though that’s no excuse, and I’ve something to tell
that no one ought to know but Abner.”

“You can take her into the keepin’-room, said
Mrs. Butterfield, bobbing her large head at Abner.
“All right, child; now you speak some way decent.”
And Debby, in a tremor to get her news delivered,
fairly ran after him as he led the way, and shut
the door behind them.

“Well, if I ever!” exclaimed Mrs. Butterfield, left
alone in the kitchen; “well, there, there, there!” she
cried gustily, quite unable to stop herself. ‘No, I never
did in all this world; I declare to gracious, I never
did.” Then she sat down in the big calico-covered
rocking-chair, and swung back and forth breezily.

“ Abner,” Debby kept her hands well behind her
back, as she told all the story hastily; as it was
done, imploring him to hurry, and prevent in some
way Tory Lee from carrying the inflammatory news
to Cambridge. He stood still a moment, thinking

in his slow way.

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138 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWM.

“© Abner! why don’t you start?” cried Debby
impatiently.

“It is too late to keep him back,” said Abner,
meditating a minute or so; “for he has already
started, probably. But I ought to follow him, and
track him to Cambridge, and see if he really does
meet any of the council. But where did you come
from? You must get home, Debby.” He bent an
anxious look on the young girl’s face.

“Oh, never mind me!” exclaimed Debby more im-
patiently than ever. “ Besides, I wasn’t going home
to-night. Mother said I could stay with Miliscent
Barrett.”

“Then I ought first to take you there,” said Abner,
a sudden light in his face.

“No, no! I can go with Pompey, can’t I? You
ought to hurry off this minute, Abner.”

“T s’pose so,” said Abner, the light dying out.
“Well, I ought, as you say, to hurry;” yet he made
no movement for the door.

“Yes, yes,” cried Debby nervously. There was no
time to tell him about the peddler, nor was she certain
that it was a subject to be mentioned. Surely the
first thing to be done was to finish the business in
hand, and that with as much despatch as possible, with-
out wasting time on any other story. She had given

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the lightest of touches concerning the way in which she
had become possessed of the plan, and only mentioned
Jim’s name incidentally as talking with Tory Bliss when,
she had overheard the conversation. She now almost
pushed Abner to the door. “Do hurry,” she begged.

“Mother,” said Abner, going into the kitchen,
“Pompey must take Debby down to Cap’n James’s.
She was to stay there over night.”

“All right,” said Mrs. Butterfield, rocking noisily.
“You goin’ away?” seeing him pick up his cap which
he had thrown down on the table.

“Yes; and I sha’n’t be home before morning. Take
good care of yourself, mother.” He went over and
planted a kiss on her wholesome cheek.

“And you be careful of yourself,” she said; “for
these are troublous times.” But she didn’t dare ask
him his errand.

“Good-night Debby;” he put out his hand, which
she pretended not to see, and a hurt expression came
into his face as he turned away.

“ Abner, don’t be angry,” she began — “nonsense !”
and she gave a little laugh, too nervous now to care
for anything, as the reaction was coming.

“Well, I must wake up Pompey,” said Mrs. But-
terfield as Abner’s footsteps sounded down the road,
and she got heavily out of her chair.

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140 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“Oh, dear me! has he gone to bed?” cried Debby
in dismay.

“Why, yes; what do you expect at this time o’
night,” said Mrs. Butterfield ungraciously; “long after
nine o’clock.” And she went out the door. Debby
could hear her calling up to the barn chamber to rouse
the negro man who had been the faithful servant of
Abner’s father. He had been, some folks said, a slave
when a boy, but no one knew for certain. Mrs. But-
terfield now called and called, but in vain; and then
she mounted the stairs and searched for herself.

“Pompey ain’t in bed nor nowheres,”’ she an-
nounced, coming back with a puzzled face to set
her candle on the table. ‘‘Whew! how hot I be!
Now, what’s to be done? You was to stay at Cap’n
James’s, was you, over night?”

“Yes,”’ said Debby in a miserable little voice.
All her brave spirit had suddenly oozed out of her,
and she presented a very abject appearance indeed.
‘* Miliscent was going to sleep at her grandfather’s,
and mother promised her I might stay with her.’’
At mention of her mother, she looked ready to cry,
and one or two tears did fall on the red table-
cloth.

“Well, you can’t now,’’ said Abner’s mother,
who didn’t see the tears; ‘‘you’ve got to stay all

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AT THE BUTTERFIELD FARM. 14!

night here, as there ain’t no way to get you down
there; it’s black as Egypt out, ’cause there’s a thun-
der-storm, I guess, coming up.’’ She spoke harsher
than she otherwise would, thinking of Abner out
in it, driven somewhere by this girl, on some fool’s
errand maybe. ‘‘You can take a ni’gown of mine;
it’s the only way,” she added shortly.

‘“‘T ain’t afraid to go by myself,’’ said Debby,
twisting her poor hands hard. Yet she thought of
the peddler; he wouldn’t hurt her, even if she should
chance upon him, for he was good, but—and she
hesitated.

“Well, I guess,” began Mrs. Butterfield in a
loud, high key, “that I know better’n to let you
go streaking off alone this dark night, Deborah
Parlin. I shouldn’t want to meet your mother after-
ward, that’s all I say.”

“Where shall I sleep?” asked Debby in a broken
little voice, longing for some bedclothes to pull
over her head, or she would disgrace herself and
break down altogether.

“You can sleep along of me, or you can go up
in the back chamber,”’ said Abner’s mother.

“Oh! PVH go up in the back chamber,” said
Debby quickly; ‘‘if you please, and you don’t
mind, Mrs. Butterfield,’ she added humbly.

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142 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“Tt don’t make no difference to me; the clean
sheets is on the bed. You can take that candle,”
pointing to one in a tin stand on the shelf.

“Good-night,” said Debby. ‘‘I hope you’ll say
you forgive me for being cross,’ she said, pausing
a minute on the way out.

“Well, I will,” said Mrs. Butterfield, not looking
at her. Her thoughts were all on her boy, off some-
where this black night, she’d give a good deal to
know where.

Debby went up the crooked stairs unsteadily, and
set the candlestick on the bureau before the cracked
looking-glass, got off her clothes as well as she could
for her hands, that now began to bleed afresh, and
curled in between the sheets, which she pulled well
up over her head. Then she burst into a torrent of
tears.

“Mercy me, I forgot all about that child’s hands!”
exclaimed Mrs. Butterfield. After shooing out the
cat, and tying on her nightcap, she was just about
to step into her own bed, and with a stab of remorse
that was genuine and deep, she toiled over the stairs
and into the back chamber. Without any preamble
this time, she advanced and gave a hasty twitch to
the bedclothes, — “I’m a-going to see your hands now,
for I won’t have it on my conscience not to do for

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em,” —to see a face convulsed with sobs, the pillow
drenched, and Debby in an agony of grief.

“You poor, blessed little creeter, you!” Abner’s
mother bent her nightcap over the bed, and just lifted
the little figure up until it rested in herarms. “There,
there, there!” She cuddled her against her large neck ;
and Debby nestled there, a hurt little thing, without
a show of resistance. “Don’t try to talk, nor say any-
thing. I’m a-going to take care of you. You're a
pretty creeter as ever lived.” She was passing her
large hands over the sunny hair now with even,
soothing strokes. How like to Abner’s hands they
were! Debby thought her own mother’s could not
be softer nor more gentle. “I wouldn’t cry if I
was you.” But Debby was beyond all power to
help it; and Abner’s mother soon began to be dis-
mayed at the stream of tears that flowed down her
neck, and the sobs that shook the slender little
frame.

“And so you come up here after supper,” she said,
to make diverting conversation. “Well, there, you
must be tired.”

“T haven’t had any supper,” said Debby involun-
tarily.

“Land o’ Liberty!” exclaimed Mrs. Butterfield.
“T b’lieve the child’s hungry. Hain’t had no supper!

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144 4A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

Now you just lie there,” she slipped the bright head
on the pillow, “and don’t you cry no more, like a
pretty creeter, and I’ll bring you up something to eat,
the first thing I do, says I.”

Debby, with a big flowered calico wrapper over
Mrs. Butterfield’s “ni’gown,” soon sat up in bed, with
a generous blue-edged plate on her knees, while Ab-
ner’s mother sat at the foot admiringly watching her
eat, and alternately suppressing a groan of dismay as
she saw the full extent of the bruises on wrist and
hand where the large sleeves fell away.

Debby looked up as the last scrap disappeared, and
a wan little smile stole over her face. ‘‘I think you’re
awfully good to me,” she said simply.

“There, there!” cried Mrs. Butterfield, quite over-
come ; and setting the empty plate on the bureau she
began to cuddle her again. ‘‘Don’t say nothing about
it. Howcan I help it? You’re as pretty as you can
be, and I hain’t never had a daughter.”

“And I was so cross to you,” said Debby sorrow-
fully, and feeling it time to steer clear from dangerous
ground.

“Don’t you speak of that,” said Mrs. Butterfield
peremptorily; ‘‘for I’ve forgot about it long ago.”

“But I can’t forget,” said Debby, with a droop of
her bright head,

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AT THE BUTTERFIELD FARM. 145

“And I warn’t none too pleasant to you,” said Ab-
ner’s mother, “to be honest about it. So I want you
to forgive me. You see, I was a-thinking of my boy.
I’m bound up in him, Debby.”

“Yes, yes,” said Debby, realizing that the ice was
becoming thin again, and it was best to skate away.
“Well, I wanted to tell you, dear Mrs. Butterfield, what
I’d come to Abner for; but it wasn’t my secret alone,
you see.”

“And I don’t want to know,” declared Mrs. Butter-
field most decidedly. “Now I’m going down for the
old rags and the opodeldoc; and I’ll have these poor
hands of yours done up so nice, you won’t know you
got any hands when I get through.”

It took so long before the process was ended of
getting them where Debby was not to know that there
were any hands, that the thunder-storm, that otherwise
they must have perceived coming up, now broke in
fury over the old brown homestead, that shook in its
every casement.

“T don’t want to leave you up here alone,” said
Abner’s mother, after oh-ing and ah-ing for the last
time over the poor hands, and viewing her work with
great satisfaction as the big bandages lay up against
the pillow. “Hadn’t you better come down and sleep

along of me?”

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140 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“Ves,” said Debby; “I should like it very much,
Mrs. Butterfield.”

“Well, then, says I, you just hop out of bed,” said
Abner’s mother, very much gratified, “and I’ll help
you down; might as well carry this pillar, I s’pose,”
bunching it under one arm as they went along.

“Oh! I can get down by myself,” began Debby
brightly. Then she thought better of it, and allowed
Mrs. Butterfield to hoist her along in the way popu-
larly supposed to be a great assistance, by tucking one
hand under the arm, and bestowing a series of persis-
tent shoves, indescribable to all but the one assisted.
At last, to the great satisfaction of both, the journey
was accomplished, and Debby lay back on the four-
poster in the big bedroom down-stairs.

“T forgot to tell you that I always sleep on feathers,”
said Mrs. Butterfield; “but then, la! it’s best I do to-
night, being there’s such a thunder-storm. You ain’t
struck on top o’ them.”

“JT don’t mind the feathers,” said Debby happily,
and stretching out her toes comfortably as far as they
would reach.

“Now you take plenty o’ room, and stick out your
hands on the pillar. Don’t you be a mite afraid; they
won’t be in my way,” continued Mrs. Butterfield, with
a last critical survey of the two white bundles that

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finished Debby’s arms, before extinguishing the
candle.

She leaned over after she climbed into her nest of
feathers that billowed up into a big ridge between her
stout figure and the slender one. “You won’t mind, I
hope, if I snore some; it’s kind 0’ comp’ny, I think, to
hear the human voice in the night, and sociable like.”

But Debby was beyond all the pleasures of such
entertainment, being fast asleep on her pillow.

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148 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

X.

AN UNUSUAL CONFERENCE.

“| ’CLAR to gracious, massa,” Pompey shook in

every limb like an aspen leaf, “I’m skeered ’clar
through. Oh, golly!” as a terrific boom of thunder
rolled over their heads; “s’pose the Almighty is after
ole Pomp ‘cause he done run away?”

The peddler leaned back against the hayrick and
said, “I suppose the Almighty has more important
business on hand than looking after you, Pomp.”

“S’pose so,” said the negro, a little relieved; “but
Passon Emerson, he do say, he do, that there can’t
no one git away from God’s big eye.”

“Oh, well! you’re in the way of duty now, Pompey,”
observed the peddler carelessly, ‘‘so take the comfort
of it. I’d advise you to.”

Pompey scratched his wool with anything but a
happy hand. Still, in these dismal surroundings, with
the rain descending in torrents around them, and the
elements at war overhead, it was something to hear
a word of encouragement.

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“ And as we are shut up to each other’s society, we
might as well enliven the time by conversation,” the
peddler went on in an easy voice. It was astonishing
“how soon he lost his squeaking tones. “So go on,
Pomp, with what you began yesterday, or was it last
week when first we met?”

“Massa question a body up so I can’t tell all de
times,” said Pompey in a discomfited way.

“Well, never mind, we won’t be exact about dates,”
said the peddler.

“ An’ I’m a-goin’ home, massa,” said the negro with
a sudden lifting of his head, “an’ tell missis why I
didn’t come when I heerd her a-callin’ me fit to split,
an’ I in the woodshed corner just a-goin’ to streak
it to meet you.” He made a quick movement which
the peddler’s long leg intercepted. so that with a howl
Pompey’s round body rolled over and over on the
sodden grass beyond. “Golly, massa!” he cried, “you
needn’t to kick so hard; you needn’t to, shorely,” as
he rubbed his shin.

“JT was afraid you wouldn’t stop for a small kick,”
observed the peddler.

“Oh, golly! I ain’t a-goin’ to run, I ain’t, massa,”
declared Pompey, coming back to huddle deprecat-
ingly under the rick.

“No; I don’t think you will,” said the other; “and

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ISO A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

if you did, I could easily come up with you, if there
were miles between us.”

“Massa he got such a very long leg,” said Pompey
in still greater discomfiture, “he just like the debbil
after a body.”

The peddler took this compliment coolly, and in-
dulged in a smothered laugh under cover of the dark.
ness, presenting an unmoved countenance in the sharp
gleam of lightning that followed.

The negro burrowed deep in speechless fright within
the rick, and shook again worse than before.

“Vou must remember, Pomp,” began the peddler in
a reassuring tone, “that you are now in his Majesty’s
service, a fact that should make you proud as Luci-
fer.”

“T donno who Loosifer is,” grumbled Pompey,
“and I don’t care fer the Majesty; I’d druther be
back at Mis’ Butterfield’s. Oh, whee! I wisht I
never lef’ her an’ Massa Abner.”

“Pomp,” cried the peddler sternly, springing up to
a sitting posture so suddenly that he nearly overthrew
the darkey who was bunched up in a heap rubbing his
big hands together, “do you know you could be de-
livered over to the strongest hand of the law, that
would land you in a prison where you’d never see
daylight again? Not to care for your king, his Maj-

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esty, is treason—/reason/! Lucky for you that I
don’t deliver you up at once to have your head cut
off.”

Pompey’s eyes stuck out till they could protrude no
farther ; and as the peddler made an involuntary move-
ment, he cried, “ Don’t kick, massa,” — protecting his
shin with both black hands, — “golly, don’t massa,
an’ I’ll do just everything you say.”

“See that you do; and there is no more talk about
deserting your king, and going to serve these rebels,”
commanded the peddler, settling back into his easy at-
titude. “You’ve started with me now in his Maj-
esty’s service, and there is no drawing back. Well,
now, to begin with, you know where I found you,
Pomp.”

“Vis, yis, massa,” said the negro with a groan of
remembrance which he speedily changed to a hee-
hee; “down in the wood-lot a-cuttin’ out the ole
bresh.”

“Quite correct. That was — let me see ” — said the
peddler reflectively, “last week; and I gave you some
money, you remember.”

“Yes, sir, yes, sir,” said the negro. ‘“Thankee sir,
thankee,” bobbing his head.

“Well, that bound the bargain, as we say; that is,
you have had pay for accepting service for his Ma}

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152 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

esty. So you see you can’t back out without awfu.
punishment.”

“?*Twas such a little money,” said Pompey, squirm-
ing all over; “only a shillin’, massa.”

“Tt doesn’t make any difference what the sum was,”
said the peddler with a return of sternness. “Take
care, Pomp.”

“Oh, yes, sir—oh, whee! Yes, sir, thankee, sir.”

“Well, and then I came again, you remember, that
was yesterday — or have you forgotten, eh?”

“No, sir, no, sir, I done ’member; an’ I was in the
wood-lot agin.”

“What a good Pompey it is,” remarked the peddler
pleasantly; ‘‘and I gave you some more money.”

“Only another shillin’ —oh, thankee, sir, thankee.”

“And that bound you again; so you see you are
bound twice, fast and long, strong and hard. Really,
Pomp, if you should attempt to run away now, I don’t
know what would become of you.”

“T ain’t a-goin’ to run, massa; oh, golly, I ain’t!”
cried the negro, creeping up in abject terror to his
companion. “Keep the dreadful things from coming
after me an’ cotchin’ me, massa.”

“T can’t,’’ said the peddler coldly. “If you take
it into that thick head of yours to give me the slip
at any time, I could catch you as easy as I can touch

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you now.” He sent out his long and supple fingers
to close them around the darkey’s wrist.

“Oh, golly, massa, how they pinch! Oh, whee!
Massa think my arm thick as my head —ee!”’

“Just as I can touch you now,” repeated the ped-
dler, releasing the negro’s arm, ‘‘so I could catch you
f you tried to run. But I want to save you from the
punishment that would be yours for trying any such
game.”’

‘« Massa needn’t be ’fraid,’’ said Pompey, his teeth
chattering in his head; ‘‘fer I’ll stick to him just like
a burr. ’Deed, an’ I will, massa.’’

“‘Very well. Now, seeing that you understand the
matter thoroughly, why, we can progress with our con-
versation. Only first I want to refresh your memory
a grain more. You know when I saw you yesterday I
made an arrangement for you to meet me to-night
down in the wood-lot again as soon as it was dark.
The storm favored us, and you came a little earlier
than I had dared to hope.’’

“‘Yes, massa; but I didn’t think I wasn’t a-goin’
back.’’

“What’s that?’’

“Oh, nothin’, massa, nothin’ ’tall!” said Pompey,
ducking animatedly.

“Well, now that your memory is jogged up, we will

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154 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

leave our starting-point, and proceed to our conversa-
tion. To begin with, Pomp, you know Captain James
Barrett very well, you said.”

“‘’Deed an’ I do, massa; alwus know’d him since
I live in this yere town; an’ that’s a many years.”’

‘‘He’s a very important person hereabout, I be-
lieve, eh? ’’

‘¢What’s that ar?”’

‘¢He’s one of the best men here, and makes people
do as he says? ’’ explained the peddler.

**Deed an’ he do, sah. Capen James he have a
way with him, they just got to, sah.’’

‘And he keeps a loc of things that the soldiers use,
I suppose,’’ said the peddler, — ‘‘bullets now, and
guns most likely, and maybe gun-carriages, eh? ’’

‘¢There you’re right, massa. He make those things,
Capen James do. Oh, he awful smart!”

“Well, let us see. He keeps things to eat, most
likely,’’ observed the peddler, — ‘oatmeal and pork
and rice, eh? — and maybe more? ”’

‘‘Golly, massa, ’twould make your eyes stick out to
see ’em all; the corn chamber’s full, and the south
barn, an’ ’’—

“And there is another person who greatly interests
me in this town,” said the peddler. ‘‘Among many

interesting characters, I must say you possess a few

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of remarkable claim to my regard. I refer to Mr.
Ephraim Wood.’’

“Massa Wood awful smart, he are,” rejoined the
negro, bobbing his head. “He live up t’other end
of the town.”

“T happen to know his residence,” said his compan-
ion dryly. ‘I was up there practising my vocation
a few days ago, and had the honor to have his dwell-
ing pointed out tome. Well now, Pompey, does Mr.
Wood come down to talk with your Captain James

very often, do you know ?”

“He ain’t my Capen James,”

contradicted Pomp;
“ Mis’ Butterfield’s my capen.”

“TVas, you meant to say. Well, we won’t split
hairs. Captain James is one of the fathers of the
town. Does he meet Mr. Wood very often to have
long talks? ”

Any reference to hair always made the negro mad;
so now he sat gloomily silent, not daring to exhibit
any further displeasure.

“T asked you a question, Pompey,” said the ped-
dler, with a significant movement of his long right
leg.

“Don’t kick, massa. Oh, golly! Mercy, don’t
kick! Ili tell, I’ll tell. Yes, sah; he do, sah; a

great many times, sah.”

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“Go on”

“Once when I was down to the capen’s, Mis’ Butter-
field sent me fer ” —

“Never mind what you went for.”

“ An’ Mis’ Barrett warn’t in; an’ I went along th’
entry, an’ J heard the capen an’ some one a-talkin’ —
but ’twarn’t Mr. Wood that ar time, ’twas Mr. Whit-
ney, sah.”

“And you heard what they said?” cried the peddler.

“Couldn’t help it, sah. Mis’ Barrett warn’t there,
an’ I couldn’t go home without what Mis’ Butterfield
had sent me fer. She told me to get some” —

“ Yes, yes, that will do,” interrupted the peddler im-
patiently.

“You told me to talk, massa,” said Pompey.

“ But I want you to tell things that I want to hear.”

“Massa do ask sech a lot o’ questions,” said the
negro discontentedly, and scratching his wool.

“ What’s that?”

“Oh! nothin’ — nothin’ ’t all, massa. Hee-hee!”

“You were going to tell me what you heard those
two gentlemen talking about.” The peddler bent his
dark eyes full upon the round, black face clearly dis-
closed in the fitful lightning gleams that every now
and then illuminated the heavens. The fury of the
storm was somewhat abated; but it still thundered a

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sullen, persistent roar, and the rain showed little sign
of holding up. ‘“‘ Now begin at once.”

“ They said they warn’t a-goin’ to buy no more tea.”

“ Anything else? ”

“ An’ that they’d fight; they wouldn’t be slaves. I
member that ar’, ’cause white men ain’t slaves.”

“What did they say about fighting?” asked the
peddler eagerly. “Remember, now. Be careful; you
know what I told you.”

“Yes, sah, yes, sah. Well, they said fer one thing
that they never should submit, —that’s the word, I
know fer shore, ‘cause I kep a-sayin’ it over an’ over
arterwards, —they never’d submit to the disrageous
commands of the king.”

“Outrageous, you mean.”

“Vis, sah, yis, sah, I said so; an’ they’d fight fer
their liberties, and they’d git ready.”

“Ah, they would?”

“Vis, sah.”

“Cuffee, do you believe the men in this town would
really fight?’ The peddler asked the question explo-
sively, as if quite beyond his volition.

“My name ain’t Cuffee,” said the negro, in a dudg-
eon, “it’s Pompey, sah.”

“Well, then, Pompey, or Snowball, or whatever you
choose, do you really believe they would fight?”

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“T really think massa might give a man his right
name,” said the negro sullenly; “I ain’t no snowball,
an’ I don’ wanter be called one.”’

“That’s a fact,” exclaimed the peddler, bursting into
alaugh. At this cheerful sound, the first that had en-
livened the meeting, Pompey showed all his ivories,
of which he had a goodly supply, and grinned till his
mouth might be said to almost meet behind his ears.
When he had finished, his sullen fit had quite disap-
peared.

“Well, now, Pompey, I don’t blame you for wanting
your own name,” said the peddler; “and after this, I’ll
observe great care to see that you get it, when we are
talking together, at least, and it is quite convenient.
And we feel better now, I think, and more acquainted,
after that little laugh. Well, now to business again.
I will ask my question once more; please pay atten-
tion, and not oblige me to repeat it. Do you think
the men of this town would ever fight, or would they
run away?”

“Do you mean fight the wicked Bloody Backs, sah?”

“ What?”

Pompey never could tell whether it was the thunder
that roared so, nor what hit his shin with such a horri-
ble force, for he didn’t see the long right leg move
from its place. But he was rubbing the place affected

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by the explosion, he knew, with quick hands, the tears
streaming down his face, and hearing the peddler say,
“ Never let such words pass your black mouth again; ”
so he could form a private opinion, though not pub-
licly expressing it.

“Would they fight his Majesty’s troops, think
you?” asked the peddler searchingly.

“Yis, sah, they would. O Lord! ’taint my fault,
massa,” cringed the negro, now thoroughly frightened,
and beginning to blubber outright.

“Stop that, you idiot; you’ll not be hurt, if you
keep a civil tongue in your black head for your king
and his soldiers. So they would fight, eh, and not
run away — sure?”

“Run?” exclaimed Pompey, and brushing off the
tears from his cheek with the back of one black
hand. ‘You don’t know ’em, sah. Run?”

It was enough to hear the tone, and the peddler
forbore to question further. When he spoke, it was
in a careless way, and on quite a different sub-
ject.

“Well, now, Pomp, I don’t suppose you know any-
body around here of the name of Parlin.”

“Deed an’ I do, sah,” cried Pompey, with a
chuckle. The turn of the conversation was quite to
his liking, and he became communicative again.

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“Why, that’s the name of Miss Debby, that ar is,
hee-hee.”

“Miss Debby?” repeated the peddler carelessly;
“‘T presume you mean Deborah.”

“Yis, yis; Mis’ Butterfield she call her Deb’rah,
but she not like her much. But Massa Abner, he call
her Debby.”

“Does this Massa Abner, as you call him, like her,
then?” queried the peddler, still without the slightest
appearance of interest, but rather as if the whole
thing bored him.

“No, sah, but he lubs her to ’straction; she’s his
sweetheart, Miss Debby is.”

“Ah?”

‘*But I donno’s she keers so very much fer him,”
said the darkey; ‘I donno, sah, I heerd tell that she
laugh at him. But Miss Debby cain’t help a-laughin’,
she cain’t, no more’n a bird can help a-flyin’ an’
a-singin’. Miss Debby’s alwus a-laughin’ an’ a-sing-
in’, an’ the little hole in her cheek keeps comin’ in an’
out. My! but don’t Massa Abner set by her, though.”

“T suppose Miss Debby favors the king, and is a
good Loyalist,” said the peddler, after a pause.

“What that ar? ”

“She feels that the king is right, and ought to be
obeyed.”

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‘‘Miss Debby feel that ar?”

sO Ves.”

““O good Laws a gracious, Miss Debby ud fight like
pisen if a redcoat come into this town. I’ve heerd
her say a many times, how she wished she could fight
“em herself, an’ she meant to when the war came.
Everybody here would fight, but Miss Debby would
be the worst of the hull lot.”

“The storm is over, I think,” exclaimed the ped-
dler suddenly. “Get up, Pomp, we must make good
travelling between now and morning.” He sprang to
his feet, and stepped out into the night, with an im-
perative gesture motioning the negro to go before.

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XI.

“WE ARE WELL MATCHED.”

HEY travelled two or three miles in silence,
Pompey not daring to grumble aloud, but
ejaculating ““O Laws a massy,” under his breath every
minute or so as he stumbled on by the side of the
long legs getting over the ground so evenly. The rain
had now entirely ceased, the clouds giving way quickly
to a bright starlit sky. The air was sweet and fresh
with that resinous quality pervading a wood-section
after a smart shower, and all nature gave out balmy
odors that to an untroubled mind would have pro-
duced peace to a remarkable degree. It was impos-
sible, from his imperturbable manner and expression,
to tell what the peddler thought as he tramped on;
certain it is that his companion was a good remove
from placidity.

At last they came to an abrupt halt. “Your legs
aren’t in as good marching order as mine, I take it,
Snowball, I mean, Pompey,” observed the peddler,
“so we will stop here a bit and rest.”

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“*Deed an’ they’re not, massa,” grunted the darkey,
too sore in every bone to notice the slip in his name;
and, without waiting for further invitation, he sank
to the ground and began to nurse his feet.

The peddler cast his pack aside, and threw him-
self lightly beside him, plucking up some tender
checkerberry leaves, which he meditatively chewed,
and then became lost in thought.

Suddenly he lifted his head, and his jaws were
set. “Get up, Pomp,” he commanded; and the negro
felt himself dragged, without ceremony, back from
the roadside to a thicket, where the hand on his
old coat was removed, and he slid to the ground.
“Hist, don’t move or speak, or I’ll blow your brains
out.” The peddler by a swift movement threw open
his long coat enough to let Pompey see a pistol end,
as a traveller, long and lank, was proceeding with
immense strides round a curve in the road, directly
toward them.

It was well that Pompey’s tongue stuck to the roof
of his mouth in fright at this threat, else he surely
must have bellowed out in fright, “Massa Abner —
Massa Abner!” But all was still; not the faintest
echo of a sound disturbed the traveller’s thoughts,
as his long steps carried him safely by the two men
in the thicket.

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When all danger of being overheard was over, the
peddler bent over the negro.

“Do you know that farmer fellow?” he demanded.

“It’s Massa Abner,” gasped Pompey, putting up
both hands to ward off a blow.

“Getup! ” Pompey didn’t wait to be assisted, but
found his feet. The peddler was stripping off his
long coat. “Tear off your rags, and put on this.”
And the change was quickly made. Then the black
man’s old straw hat was on the peddler’s tow-colored
wig, but not before it was sharply scanned to be sure
of no distinguishing marks to set it apart from other
hats of its kind, and the peddler’s was on Pompey’s
white wool; and as a finishing stroke, an immense
bandanna was brought forth from the pack at his
feet, by the peddler, who proceeded to tie up the
negro’s face so effectually with fold upon fold, that
no one could see a feature of his face, except two
black spots that might be supposed to be eyes as
they were in the right places. The white wool even
was effectually concealed, as the old black felt hat,
which was of a generous pattern, was well drawn
down over it.

“Tt requires some ingenuity to dispose of these
pistols,” observed the peddler, drawing out a brace,
“so that they will not be intrusive, until wanted;

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however, I can manage it, where needs must. Now
then, we are ready. Hark ye, Pomp, if you open that
black mouth of yours to utter a sound, I will send
cold lead in you that instant. And one thing more, if
you think we went on a canter before, you’ll make up
your mind to go on a worse canter now. You've got
to keeh up with me! Come on, Snowball!”

Away went peddler, and away went darkey as well
as he could, being assisted by the peddler’s long and
sinewy arm, down the road after the traveller, who
had by this time, being blessed by such excellent
walking facilities, gotten a good piece ahead. But at
last his tall figure could be seen silhouetted in the
bright starlight; and although the pace of the two
followers was slackened, they still kept up a goodly
gait, calculated to bring them success. When this
was in view, the peddler began to go slower. More-
over, it was imperative, as the puffs emitted from the
black man’s throat were by this time demanding at-
tention; so a pause was indulged in for him to secure
the necessary second wind. At last, however, they
joined the solitary pedestrian with a “Good-evening,
sir,” squeaked out so that Abner turned to the salu-
tation.

“Good-evening,” he said with no show of interest
in the meeting, plodding on as before.

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“Terrible rain that,” volunteered the peddler, fall-
ing into step, Pompey on his other side.

“It was so,” observed Abner, as something ap-
peared to be expected.

“T hain’t met another such in all my tramping,”
remarked the peddler, shifting his pack ostentatiously.
No answer.

“It’s hard work goin’ from pillar to post,”
squeaked the peddler, ‘‘year in an’ year out, to
scratch up a living. You fellows who own your
farms don’t know nothing about it.”’ Still no an-
swer.

“What’s the next town now?” at last he de
manded.
“Cambridge,”’” answered Abner shortly.

“Oh! likely place is it? Would I sell much,
think? ”’

“That you could tell when you reach there,”
said Abner. “I’m sure I cannot say. Women’s
gewgaws and trinkets ought not to find a ready sale
when our country is in such distress,” he added bit-
terly.

“Oh, but I have more things than a few trinkets
in my pack,’ cried the peddler eagerly; “those we
must carry to please the ladies, and pins and needles
and household things. But I have also many

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other useful articles, as you shall see.” He stopped
suddenly, dropped the pack to the ground, and
twitched it open.

“See, see!” as he knelt beside it, and rapidly
held up one thing after another.

Leathern wallets, cheap snuff-boxes, bandanna hand-
kerchiefs, comforters, suspenders, tobacco-pouches,
and a general odds-and-ends collection of what
might be termed the necessities, not to say luxu-
ries, of that day. ‘‘Here are many things that you
ought to see—cheap. I'll sell ’em cheap.” He
stuck out a big green leather wallet. ‘‘No?”’ as
Abner shook his head; ‘‘well, then, this. It’s
dirt cheap —only a ninepence; you can’t get it in
Boston shops lesser’n a shillin’;’”’ and he tried a
tobacco-pouch.

“T want nothing,” said Abner decidedly, and
going his way.

The peddler clapped to his pack in an angry fash-
ion, and slung it on his back. “Hard times it is,”
he said, “when honest folks can’t get a livin’.”

“You speak truly,” said Abner gloomily; “but
blame not us farmer-folk.”

“Who is to blame then?” squeaked the peddler.

“Who, indeed? Ah, and can you ask me that?
Your travels through the country have brought you

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little knowledge that sharp wits might have picked
up, I should think.”

The peddler scratched his long straw-colored hair
in perplexity. “I go about to sell things, not to get
knowledge,” he said with a stupid laugh.

“ So I should say.”

“ And I see farms” —he stretched his long hands,
on which were now his old black gloves — “in every
direction, and cattle and nice houses. Surely there
must be money and plenty of it. Whew! but I wish
I had one of these homes!”

“ And how long are we sure of these homes?”
cried Abner, in a burst of bitterness. “In a mo-
ment, in the twinkling of an eye maybe, all that
a man, and his father and grandfather before him,
have toiled to earn and to save, may be swept
away at the behest of a tyrant king.”

“Eh?” the peddler gazed at him vacantly.

“ And all for what?” cried Abner, careless whether
or no he had a good listener, now that the pent-up
emotion had found utterance. “ Because, forsooth,
we have been obedient to our God and our king
—pbecause we have obeyed his Majesty’s slightest
wish, and given him the allegiance our consciences
told us was right. Ay, more, we went beyond the
letter of the law —we obeyed in the spirit; and we

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trusted him and the Parliament of Great Britain
to do the right thing by the Colonies. How have
we been rewarded? By oppression and obloquy and
scorn; all our charter and natural rights trampled
down. Our ports have been stopped up — look
at Boston Harbor; we have been taxed without the
privileges of all tax-payers in a civilized land; and
now, after untold tyranny, we are met with this last
proof of the perfidy of the king and his ministers.”

“What is that?” asked the peddler with open
mouth.

“The Act, the Act, man, —where have you been not
to know it? — by which our officers, appointed by the
vote of the people, are put out, and their places filled
with officers of the king’s choosing, or that of his min-
ions. This makes us nothing but slaves, and reduces
us, and our children after us, to bondage. Nothing
now remains for us but death or freedom.”

“Would you fght?” asked the peddler drawing near,
and bringing out the word in a long-drawn syllable of
astonishment.

“Fight? Ay, that we would!” replied Abner.
“ Fight?” he threw out his long arms and clinched
his hands. “Pray God it may come soon, and the
world will see how we will fight. We will fight as a
man does who has nothing to live for unless he can

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win. We will fight so that those we love better than
life may live in freedom and safety.”

“T s’pose now you're thinkin’ of your wife an’ chil-
dren,” said the peddler meditatively.

“T have no wife,” said Abner shortly. The hot
color rose to his brown cheek, and he stalked on im-
petuously.

“That so. Well now, I got ten—I mean children,”
said the peddler; ‘an’ my wife she finds it hard work
to get along, I can tell you, an’ me trampin’ round the
country to scratch up a livin’ for all of us. It’s mighty
hard I tell you, mister.”

Abner walked straight ahead, lapsed in gloomy
thought, and for some moments neither spoke. At
last the peddler began.

“T sold a lot o’ things in Concord Town, but then
the folks are rich there! My gracious! but it’s a nice
town. If I hadn’t got my trade, I’d bring my wife
and children an’ settle down there myself. Be you
goin’ far?”

“A short piece,” said Abner curtly, with a manner
that invited no further questioning.

“Yes, they’re awful rich,” continued the peddler,
shifting his pack again. ‘Here you, Simons, s’pose
you just carry this thing a spell now; it’s your turn.
Him’s my partner,” he volunteered, as he slung the

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pack over on Pompey’s back; ‘“we’ve tramped it to-
gether for years now. An’ sometimes we each takes
a pack an’ goes about country, but this time we left
tother pack in Boston Town. Gosh an’ Jerusalem !”
he stretched his long arms, “ain’t I glad to get red
on that tarnal thing! Have a chaw, mister?” He
twitched out a chunk of tobacco, and held it out
invitingly.

Abner shook his head, and plodded on.

“Be you ’quainted up to Concord Town?” asked
the peddler, breaking the pause.

“ Somewhat,” answered Abner.

“JT s’pose you don’t happen to know a fellow named
Butterfield now, do you?”

Abner did not reply for a minute, till the peddler
repeated the question.

“Yes, I know such a person,” said Abner.

“Well, what sort of a fellow is he, anyway?”
asked the peddler.

“Oh, I always thought he meant well enough,”
answered Abner.

“Rich, maybe ?” asked the peddler insinuatingly.

“No; he’s poorer’n a good many there. Rich? how
can a farmer be rich who’s ground down to the earth;
who has to put a mortgage on his farm, and nothing
to pay the interest with? Rich? I tell you, the peo-

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ple are rich only in one thing, and that is, love of
freedom.”’

“Well, now, p’raps this man Butterfield, —I heerd
talk of his bein’ a likely sort of a fellow, — might git
his mortgage off, an’ be a risin’ citizen, ef he only
knew which side his bread was buttered on.”

“What do you mean?” thundered Abner.

“JT mean jest what I say. I’ve tramped around
country so I’ve picked up a few things that are o’ use
to some folks, maybe, if they ain’t to me; an’ if I hain’t
got book learnin’ and the idees you have in your
head, I know a thing or two, maybe.”

“ Explain yourself, if you can,”’ cried Abner in con-
tempt.

“Well, I heerd yist’day, or maybe ’twas longer ago,”
said the peddler composedly, “‘that there was a mighty
good chance for a young farmer like they said he
was, to come back to his allegiance to th’ king if he’d
been lively the other way ; an’ if he did, why he’d
git his house an’ lands saved free to him, beside bein’
on the winnin’ side, an’”—

“Hold your dastardly tongue!’ cried Abner in an
awful voice, and squaring up before the long figure
of the peddler, “or I’ll knock you into kingdom
come!”

“Why, I hain’t said anythin’ about you,’’ exclaimed

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the peddler coolly, “I’m a-talkin’ ’bout that Butterfield
they told me of” —

“How dare you speak of the king’s tyranny being
the winning side,” cried Abner, all his usually slow
blood racing in a fury in his veins. ‘“ And it’s an
insult to mention one of the men of Concord Town
as sunk so low as to think of turning his back on
honor and truth.”

“P’raps this Butterfield chap don’t think as you do,”
insinuated the peddler, facing him unmoved.

“He does—he does. They all think alike,” cried
Abner, in a passion; “that is, all but two or three,
who are confessedly traitors,” and his face darkened.

“Well, stranger,” said the peddler, with a triumphant
smile, “there’s where you are wrong. You’ve got one
man in your town, for I see you are a Concord cit’zen,
who’s been a rebel, dark and bitter, but who has just
come out strong for the king.”

“Name him,” commanded Abner, with glittering
eyes, and coming dangerously near.

“John Parlin.”

“Vou lie!” Abner made a rush, but the long arms
kept him back.

“Softly, softly there,” said the peddler. “ No man
tells me that to my face without he gives me satis-
faction. You must fight.”

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“Willingly,” cried Abner, in a white heat, and
stripping off his coat and waistcoat. Pompey, stand-
ing like a statue whenever they paused, now groaned
within the folds of his bandanna, and wrung his
hands.

The peddler cast his eyes quickly on all sides.
“We shall be more to ourselves, though as yet we
ain’t troubled with folks passin’, in this pleasant busi-
ness,” he squeaked, “if we get beyond that grove.
Come on, Simons, you ain’t in this, but you can look
on. Now, I’m agoin’ to do the square thing, stranger,
an’ jest have a knock-down with our fists, bein’ as you
an’ I ain’t neither o’ us armed. Be you?”

“No,” said Abner; “but I have some fists that you
will see are able to avenge insults.”

“ Here we be,” said the peddler in great satisfaction,
as they reached the spot, Abner with his coat and
waistcoat over his arm; and with a sudden move-
ment he quickly divested himself, behind a tree, of his
outer garments, which he laid carefully at the roots.
Pompey got behind some bushes, where he continued
to wring his hands and groan without intermission.

The two men gazed at each other a moment as they
rolled up their shirt-sleeves. They were just of a
height ; but where not an ounce of flesh that could be
spared to grace and beauty of outline was to be ob-

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served on the peddler, on the young farmer the frame
carried more weight beside that of brawn. Vet he had
the muscular arm and the fist of a deadly foe. The
black eyes gazed into the flashing blue ones, and the
pedler forgot to squeak, as he said, ‘‘ Lay on, stranger!”
For the first few minutes the negro didn’t dare to
look out of his covert. All he was conscious of was
the regular breathing, the thud, thud, of the blows
and the stamp and straining of the feet against the
ground, like that of angry animals when in combat.
But at last, as he became accustomed to the sounds,
he ventured a frightened glance, to acquaint himself
with the progress of the fight. If Massa Abner would
only kill the debbil, or his emissary, whom he was
sure that his companion must be, he would be well
content to witness an even worse battle. But all
Pompey’s terror was, with the intimate acquaintance
he possessed of Abner’s antagonist, that the combat
must end the other way. And what with his stabs
of remorse at letting his own Massa Abner be slain,
and his perils that he ran from any interference, the
negro was in such a pitiable plight that he soon was
reduced to a mere quaking body of terror, unable to
render any assistance, had he decided to give it.
But after a few moments of this sort of work, the
combatants stopped suddenly, drew off, and looked at

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each other. Pompey gave a great gulp of joy, and
the tears ran down his black cheeks, soaking the
bandanna drawn over his mouth.

If the debbil wasn’t to be killed, at least Massa
Abner was safe, as Pompey said, over and over to
himself, in excess of thankfulness, “They’ve done got
done now for shore.”

But there was a tightening of band and girth, that
proclaimed other plans on the part of the combatants.
And the drawing in of the breath, and the setting of
the jaw, as well as the flashing eye, showed that the
truth was the contest had but just begun.

“We are well matched,” said the peddler.

“Yes,”’ said Abner, through his set teeth; “you
may know how to parry better, but I’ll hold on longer,
for I’ve something to fight for.”

“ Are you ready?” asked his antagonist briefly.

“Ves,” said Abner; and the fight was renewed.

Pompey must have lost consciousness about this
time, as he huddled on the ground, in abject, witless
fright. When he came to himself, and was conscious
of the stage in the affair, the two men were wrestling.
The muscles of their arms stood out like whipcords,
as they swayed back and forth in a deadly embrace.
The ground was torn up and stamped, and worn for a
large area, as one or the other dragged his contestant

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from his position. Pompey even imagined he could
see blood dripping from nose and mouth, as occasion-
ally he obtained a glimpse of the strained visage,
every nerve alive to victory, the flashing eye, and
locked jaw, of each adversary. At last the labored
breathing of the panting, struggling combatants be-
came so distressing to hear, that the negro thrust his
black fingers in his ears, and the sight being so dread-
ful, he covered up his eyes, so that he lost the ending
which now could not be much longer delayed. The
peddler by a dexterous twist, and with a lightning ra-
pidity of action, was achieving what mere strength
could not do, and Abner — “O Zor’ /” cried Pompey
— Abner was falling with a heavy thud to the ground.

The peddler drew off, and folded his arms, and
looked at him; for Abner’s eyes were open, and he was
by no means in that condition that required help. He
was simply a fallen hero.

“We are well matched,” said the peddler, his heav-
ing bosom attesting his struggle. “I could never
have beaten you, I will frankly say, had I not been
acquainted a little better with the rules of wrestling,”
and came forward and stood over his foe, whose great
frame he gazed at in admiration, and offered his
hand. “Let us call it even,” he said.

But Abner’s eyes were fastened on his antagonist’s

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head. Quick as a flash, the peddler’s hand sought
the spot toward which the gaze was directed, to meet
his own waving locks, the long straw-colored wig
lying at some distance on the ground, where it had
been thrown in the thick of the battle.

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XII.

ABNER ACCOMPLISHES HIS MISSION.

a HERE is small use in attempting to deny that

for purposes of my own I chose to assume a
disguise,” said the peddler, with a slight smile. “Well,
you are a brave man,” and his face dropped back
again into its grave expression. “Will you shake
hands?”

But Abner got up to his feet. “You beat me,”
he said slowly, “in a fair fight. I’m not ashamed
to own that I like you, and you took no mean advan-
tage. But you’ve said words that are an insult; and
you are, I believe from my soul, an enemy to all my
poor struggling countrymen, and an adherent to that
tyrant, King George. I cannot take your hand.”

“As you will,” replied the other curtly; “the time
will come when you will be glad to have me offer
you my hand, — sooner than you think,” he added,
with rising anger.

“And now permit me to go upon my way without
company,” said Abner, resuming his outer garments.

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“T have the pleasure to wish you good-night.” He
strode off into the night, not with the ill-temper of
a defeated man, but as carrying a deeper hurt in
his soul, harder to bear than any personal misfor-
tune, and was soon lost to the view of his late
travelling companions.

“Well, Pompey,’”’—the peddler had resumed his
straw-colored wig, trusting to chance and to the
negro’s terror, that the mishap of its displacement had
not been observed in that quarter, — “our friend and
your late employer seems to have gotten the worst of
that encounter. On my soul, I wish I had dealt him
some harder whacks,” his ill-temper gaining on him.

Pompey had evidently noticed nothing, being far
beyond wigs and such trifles, and his teeth chattered
as he tried to speak.

“We will give him a chance to stretch his legs well
toward Cambridge Town before we start on our journey
thither. Of a truth, this young fellow is spared to see
greater sorrow than this night’s defeat has brought
him. He will wade in blood, I fear, before long, and
most ineffectually spilt, if ever it comes to the fight,
as he thinks it will. But pshaw! what fool’s non-
sense is this! These country bumpkins will never
raise a rifle nor draw a sword. It is all well enough,
forsooth, for them to con their tales by the fireside,

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ABNER ACCOMPLISHES HIS MISSION. 181

and believe they are ready for war. But war— what
do they know of it? Poor innocents!”

So he ruminated, lost in thought, and oblivious of
Pompey’s presence. When at length a sufficient time
had elapsed to give, in his judgment, the right start
to his late opponent, the peddler, for so we must con-
tinue to call him, since he has given us no right to de-
scribe him by any other name, rose from the ground
where he had thrown himself, and commanding his com-
panion to do likewise, took up the pack, and struck
off down the road toward the town of Cambridge.

Abner, with head bent down, and the air of a man
lost in sorrowful thoughts, went swiftly on his way.
That he had missed Tory Lee at his own home on
account of the lateness of the hour, was not to be laid
to his inefficiency; and that his horse, which, after
Debby’s tale, he had hurried out and saddled, leaping
to its back, and riding hastily off to the Tory’s resi-
dence, and then away on the wings of the wind to
the Cambridge road, should rear in a mad fright at
a blinding lightning flash, plunging into a gully, was
certainly, again, his misfortune, and not his blunder.
Poor Dobbin had gone lame at the mischance; and
Abner had left him at the nearest farmhouse, and
set forth on foot for the remainder of the distance,
vowing to himself that he would track Tory Lee, at

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any rate, although he was denied by fate the power
to stop him. Then he met the peddler.

Who this person was, and why thus disguised,
Abner did not at present bother his head about. It
was a time when many new and strange people were
shifting into view; and in the presence of the low-
hanging cloud of war, the mind was callous to their
effects. What was knotting Abner’s honest brow
and clinching his brown hands as he strode on, was
this fellow’s mention of John Parlin’s name. Of
course it could mean nothing. John Parlin was as
stanch a patriot as any in Concord Town. Imagine
Debby’s father — and the hot flush again rose to the
young man’s face — being any but a thorough-going
patriot, who would die for his country, if need be, but
never give up to a traitorous thought! Why, Abner
had heard him many a time raising his voice in town-
meeting in that slow, deliberative way of his, that was
all the more effective when used to impress zealous
sentiments, urging the citizens to stand by their rights,
and not consent to be further ground down under the
tyrant’s heel. And how well he remembered that
Debby had quoted in her pretty way, often and often,
with loving pride, what father had said as being the
end of the matter, that if only followed, would lead on
to victory and freedom. Oh! now how bitterly he

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ABNER ACCOMPLISHES HIS MISSION. 183

regretted that he had not been able to punish this
insulting fellow as he deserved — one of King George’s
dastardly minions, who, because he had the knowledge
of the tricks of the game, had beaten him in the wres-
tling. Abner knew in his heart that his combatant’s
statement was perfectly true, and that courage and
strength had been well matched. It was gall and
wormwood to his sore heart now to reflect that the
fellow who had uttered the lying statement concerning
Debby’s father had been spared the lesson of the
farmer’s good right fist, that should have felled him
to the ground.

It was the early morning twilight when Abner en-
tered the town, and betook himself where he knew he
could get some glimpse of the man who had gone to
warn the members of the Council against the prepara-
tions to resist that were being made in his own town,
and the temper that was rapidly possessing his own
townsfolk. And at last, after some hours, he found
himself standing in the shelter of near-by build-
ings, to be soon rewarded by a sight of Tory Lee
emerging from the dwelling of one of the most prom-
inent of the Council, who stood upon the steps of the
mansion, profuse in his appearance of gratitude and
satisfaction at the interview. The horse of Tory Lee
was then brought around to the door; and with more

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184 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

satisfaction expressed on both sides, the Concord man
vaulted into the saddle, put spurs to his horse, and
struck into the turnpike leading to his home. Abner,
having thus got all that it was possible to acquire,
also started homeward, but on foot.

“Why?” Debby woke up with a start, and stared
at the bed tester of brown-and-white linen, on which
remarkable pictures of stage-coach trips, village
merrymakings, and men on prancing steeds, greeted
her eyes. Then she gazed at her hands, or rather
the bundles that adorned each wrist, and it all came
back to her.

“Mrs. Butterfield!” she called.

That good woman, with a throb at her heart at the
sound of the young voice, dropped her dish-pan with
a clatter in the sink, and hurried to look into the rosy
face and the eyes dewy with slumber.

“Well, I never!” she ejaculated in great satisfac-
tion. “If you hain’t slep’!”

“What time is it?” asked Debby, raising herself
to lean on the elbow of the big “nigown.” “Oh! I
hope it’s not late, because mother told me to come
early.”

“Tt’s ten o’clock,” said Mrs. Butterfield, “if ’tis
a minute. But never mind,” as Debby sprang from

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ABNER ACCOMPLISHES HIS MISSION. 185

the bed with a dismayed little cry, “your ma wouldn’t
expect you if she knew; an’ you must git a good break-
fast first. I’ve kep’ it hot for you down by the fire.”

“But she doesn’t know,” said the girl, dressing
rapidly. “Oh! I mustn’t stop, Mrs. Butterfield;
thank you so much for keeping my breakfast hot.
I must get home as quick as I can.”

“Drat that black Pompey, he ain’t at home this
morning. Where can he have gone?” exclaimed Mrs.
Butterfield. ‘I’ve screeched and screeched till I’ve
most split my throat, and no more good than to call
the dead. He’s took too much cider, I’ll be bound,
somewhars, and has stayed to sleep it off. Now I
depended on his turning up this morning, and I’d ’a’
sent word to your mother. If there was only a team
going by now.” She ran to the window, as she had
run forty times before that morning for the same pur-
pose; for the mother’s secret worry, if she should find
out before her arrival home that her daughter had not
passed the night at Miliscent Barrett’s, weighed heav-
ily on the good woman’s heart. “Well, if you won’t
stay to eat a bite, you must take some breakfast and
eat it on the way;” and she pressed some doughnuts,
a piece of pie, and some fried ham and potatoes, done
up in a clean old towel, into Debby’s hands, which
were now undone from their bandages, and after a

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186 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

hurried inspection were pronounced wonderfully bet-
ter. “Which is all owing to that opodeldoc— sup-
posin’ I hadn’t ’a’ made you have it on, child!”

“Good-by,” said Debby, bending down over her
bundle of breakfast, and putting out her pretty lips;
“you've been so good to me, Mrs. Butterfield, I can’t
thank you.”

“You pretty creetur, you!” exclaimed the good
woman, highly gratified; and she opened her motherly
arms, and gathered the girl in. “I wish you was here
always, Deborah, I do. Now if you only could” —

“Oh! I must hurry,” cried Debby, in a fluster;
“mother is in a worry, you know.”

“Oh, dear me! if there was only a team,” cried Mrs.
Butterfield again; and stepping out after her on the
flat door-stone to scan up and down the road, “that’s
just the way! never is one when you want it, and when
you don’t, always a-clatterin’ round. Something like
men, teams is; can’t put your fingers on ’em when
they could be of use, and la! when nobody wants ’em
round, there they be. Well, good-by,’’ she shouted,
for Debby was already nearly out of sight at the turn
in the road. “It’s a mercy that the Barretts would
s’pose, of course, that Deb’rah had gone home last
night, or there’d be a dreadful piece o’ work up there.
Well, I do wonder where in creation the child got her

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ABNER ACCOMPLISHES HIS MISSION. 187

hands so cut up; must ’a’ fell, and is ashamed to tell,
young folks is so queer. Well, I do wish that she
and Abner’d take to settin’ up in real earnest; she’s
old enough now, and I alwus liked her,” for Mother
Butterfield was not the first one to discover lifelong
affiliations that were born of an hour, out of the past
absolute chill, All this she kept saying to herself
throughout the morning hours that now seemed so
dull, as if the old brown house had suddenly all its
sunshine withdrawn.

Debby, running across lots to Miliscent’s to tell her
why she had not come back from the errand to the
centre, saw young James, and hailed him.

“Tell Miliscent,” she began; but he ran up to her,
crying out, —

“Oh! where have you been? Everybody’s looking
for you,” which meant his immediate family, as Mil-
iscent had confided the fright only to her own home
people.

“Tell Miliscent,” she said, “I’m all safe,” and ran
on, to hear him screaming after her, —

“Your mother’s took sick; she’s got a fit, I guess;”
which sent the girl, with terror at her heart, off like
the wind.

When she arrived at the little cottage on the Old
Bay Road, she found every thing in the direst con-

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188 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

fusion. The baby, usually the most stolid specimen
of placid content, was screaming lustily; Debby could
hear him long before she reached the top of the
Ridge. And when she entered the kitchen, her
mother, always the one to greet her eye, busy and
cheerful, lay stretched out on the bed, just beyond,
Debby could see through the bedroom door. Aunt
Keziah was bending over some mess stewing before
the fire, and the children were sullenly weeping in
the corner.

“© mother!” cried the girl, rushing to the side of
the bed, and burying her face against the poor drawn
one, “surely you are not worrying over me ?”

Mrs. Parlin raised her tearless eyes, and a sob
shook her.

She put her hand up, and smoothed Debby’s hair.
But she did not smile, and she looked so strange
that Debby shivered. “Dear mother,” and she com-
forted her again, “I’m home now, and father will
be in soon to dinner, and” —

“Don’t speak your father’s name to me,” cried
Mrs. Parlin, her eyes flashing, and she sat up in
bed. “Remember, I command you;” then she fell
back to her pillow.

Debby staggered out to the kitchen, and leaned
against the table.

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ABNER ACCOMPLISHES HIS MISSION. 189

“O Debby!” mumbled Johnny, coming out from
his corner, “I don’t like that old woman; send her
away —old Miss Feiton.”

“She scares me,” said Doris, hurrying, as fast
as it was in her nature, to Debby’s arms. “Make
her go home, sister.”

Debby mechanically comforted them, and turned
her face to Miss Keziah, “What is the matter with
my mother?” she asked.

“TI can’t tell the nature of her disease, but she’ll
be better when I get some of my herb tea down

” answered Aunt Keziah. “Of all times in the

her,
year not to have any! and I thought I had a pot-
ful at home. But it’s most steeped now,” — stirring
the mess with a long spoon,— “then this will reach
the trouble, whatever it is.”

“T do not wish her to take it,” said Debby firmly;
“and thank you, Miss Keziah, you are very good to
come, but now I can do everything for my mother,”
as the children huddled closer to her, begging in
loud whispers that the old woman might go home.

Debby hurried, with John and Doris at her heels,
to quiet the screaming baby, who kept his eyes as
if bewitched on the yellow face under the big hand-
kerchief, and roared, without stopping to draw breath,
steadily on.

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190 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

Aunt Keziah in much passion twitched off her
brewing mess from the bed of coals, “And if you
had the smallest amount of faith in this, the only
thing that can cure her,’ she said, “your mother
would be well. Silly child! well—well-a-day. The
Lord have mercy on you, and all who doubt the
herbs he has made!” And she went off, mumbling
to herself vigorously.

The children drew long breaths of relief. Debby
had now succeeded in quieting the baby, but he
wouldn’t let her put him out of her arms. So she
beckoned to Johnny and Doris to follow her to
the woodshed, where out of reach of the mother’s
ears she might arrive at the bottom of the truth of
this mysterious illness.

But Johnny and Doris knew no more than she
did, and by a few well-directed questions Debby soon
found this out. Then she went back to the mother’s
bed, the fat baby in her arms. Mrs. Parlin lay
there dry-eyed, and staring at the opposite wall.

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LEADING EVENTS. IOI

XIII.

LEADING EVENTS.

ND now Debby went no more to Miliscent’s to
make cartridges, where the busy circle worked

day after day. And affairs progressed swiftly to the
great fulfilment so sure to come. And the county
convention was held, of delegates from every town,
and the fire of liberty burned brightly, each man
charging his spirit with fervor, till the whole town
was as one family—all but the two or three now
openly avowed as Tories, and shunned accordingly.
“Tt is evident to an attentive mind,” rang out the
report to this convention, “that this Province is in
a very dangerous and alarming situation. We are
obliged to say, however painful it may be to us, that
the question now is, whether by a submission to some
late Acts of the Parliament of Great Britain we are
contented to be the most abject slaves, and entail
that slavery on posterity after us, or by a manly,
joint, and virtuous opposition, assert and support our
freedom. ... Life and Death, or what is more,

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192 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

Freedom and Slavery, are in a peculiar sense now
before us, and the choice and success, under God,
depend greatly on ourselves. We are therefore
bound, as struggling not only for ourselves, but for
future generations, to express our sentiments in the
following resolves; sentiments which we think are
founded in truth and justice, and therefore sentiments
we are determined to abide by. . . .

“These are sentiments [the nineteen resolves which
were passed] which we are obliged to express, as
these Acts are intended zmmediately to take place.
We must now either oppose them, or tamely give up
all we have been struggling for. It is this that has
forced us so soon on these very important resolves.
However, we do it with humble deference to the Pro-
vincial and Continental Congress, by whose resolu-
tions we are determined to abide, and to whom, and
the world, we cheerfully appeal for the uprightness of
our conduct. On the whole, these are ‘great and pro-
found questions.” We are grieved to find ourselves
reduced to the necessity of entering into the discus-
sion of them. But we deprecate a state of slavery.
Our fathers left a fair inheritance to us, purchased
by a waste of blood and treasure. This we are re-
solved to transmit equally fair to our children after
us. No danger shall affright, no difficulties intimi-

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LEADING EVENTS. 193

date us. And if in support of our rights we are
called to encounter even death, we are yet undaunted,
sensible that he can never die too soon who lays
down his life in support of the laws and liberties of
his country.”

Such was the spirit fired by town-meeting, county
convention, and private assembly of citizens one with
another, that now took possession of the old town by
the river of her name. It was impossible, being given
over to it, for the march of events to be other than
they were; and September of 1774 saw the entire com-
munity aroused to the necessity of action, and only
awaiting the word of command, to fall in. But while
they held themselves in readiness, they were law-abid-
ing to the last degree, and determined to give no ex-
cuse to the hot-headed and the reckless, for any
premature explosion of indignation.

The vote recommending a “ provincial meeting,” to
assemble in Concord on the first Tuesday of October,
had also been passed at the above mentioned county
convention; and all eyes were looking forward to this
with great hopes that their deliberations there to take
place might afford some means of relief. At all events,
the citizens would be instructed what next steps to
take.

Meantime John Parlin had not been seen by the

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townsfolk, but had so effectually disappeared from
their life that no one could say what the cause might
be, with the exception of his wife; and she lay on a
bed hovering between life and death, unable to tell,
had she so desired. And Debby, withdrawn from the
life of the village, and fastened in the little cottage
with the children and the sick mother, felt the days go
by with stunned senses, that seemed only mechani-
cally to do her bidding. She heard, when Miliscent
or cousin Simon or Jabez dropped in, as one or the
other did daily, the common news of the Centre, or
the last reports from Boston Town, as they had gath-
ered them, and then ran on swift and sympathetic
feet to give them to her. And Abner came of an
evening, always awkwardly, more often silently asking
with his eyes to be allowed to help her, than by any
words; and Perces Wood in her steady and mature
way would come and move around the little cottage
like any old woman, sending the half-fainting girl to
bed, while she kept house and minded the children.
It was astonishing how they looked up to her; for,
let her speak never so lightly, and Perces had a
smooth voice that never adopted surprises, they im-
mediately made it their first business to hear it, and
to do as she said, obeying her a thousand times better
than Debby, who was only “sister.”

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LEADING EVENTS. 195

And Mrs. Butterfield came at once, as soon as she
heard of the illness, wild to help her “ pretty creeter ”
(already destined in her own mind to be her Abner’s
wife) ; but she knocked down with her big body, ac-
customed to the freedom and breadth of her large
farmhouse kitchen, so many things in the little cottage
rooms, that at last she got frantic, and came to the
conclusion herself that she was much better away.

“ And how you ever do any work in this little tucked-
up place, my dear, I don’t see,” she would say in her
loud whisper next to the sick woman’s door. And
Debby would run and shut it, and try to smile
patiently, as she thanked her, till the good woman
fell into despair; and one day she clambered into the
wagon when Abner came to fetch her, saying, “TI can’t
come here never no more, Abner; tain’t a bit o’ use.”

“What’s the matter, mother? ” asked Abner, paling
at the lips.

“T’m too big,” blurted out Mrs. Butterfield, slap-
ping the ends of her shawl together in her lap; “I
warn’t cut out for a lettle mite o’ room; an’ ’tain’t
any use, not a mortal bit, at my time o’ life, to try
to git along in a three-inch corner when the Lord’s
made such a lot o’ creation. My! how that girl
does it, Abner, I don’t see; but she just slips round
as easy, an’ lo and behold, the work’s done. But I

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196 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

tell you what I’m goin’ to do; I’m just goin’ to take
those children, Johnny and Doris, home to-morrow.
You may come down an’ git ’em.”

“That’s a good idea, mother!” exclaimed the young
man; “why haven’t we thought of it before?”

“JT don’t know. I s’pose because the Lord only
gives just so much common sense at a time to one in-
dividooal,” said his mother ; “an’ you an’ I hain’t got
enough gumption to claim our share. Well, Debby
says they may come to-morrow, so you be sure to be
on hand with the team in the morning. She can
weather it through with the baby, I guess. It’s a
mercy he’s got so many teeth; he can eat quite like
folks.”

And Debby never made any inquiries, not even of
Abner, for news of her father. With that terrible
sentence of her mother’s ringing in her ears night and
day, she must hold her peace, and wait for recovery to
come to the one who alone could unfold the mystery.
Better was it for the townspeople to guess at a cause
that had carried her father away, than for her, the
daughter, to fan the curiosity of the village by any
useless questions. Probably they would think his
absence was all understood in the family, and the
curiosity would soon die down. So although her
heart was bursting with sorrow and dread, Debby

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CEADING EVENTS. 197

would meet Abner at the door of an evening, quiet
and patient as ever, with a face on which there ap-
peared to be no unanswered questions. And he never
dared ask her aught of her father, but feasted his great
brown eyes on her, feeling her never so sweet and
winsome as in the gravity of her trouble and distress.
And so the days slipped by.

The sessions of the two courts were to be holden on
the 13th of September; but a stormy meeting of citi-
zens of the town and neighboring communities, on the
Common, the great rendezvous of the day, decided
that ‘‘if it proceeded on in the old way ”’ the sitting of
the court should be allowed; “but if under the new
organization, they were determined to prevent it, agree-
ably to there commendation of the late convention ;”
and through their committee chosen from these towns
they voted, “as their opinion, that the Court of Gen-
eral Sessions of the Peace ought not to be opened or
sit at this time,” the justices of the court being waited
on to this effect. And the court giving out a written
declaration, which was read to the assembled crowd, it
was declared satisfactory. This declared it “ inexpe-
dient to open the court lest it should be construed
that we act in consequence of the late unconstitutional
Act of Parliament.’”’ Moreover, a promise was attached
that they would “not open nor in any way proceed to

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198 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

the business of said court.” This all the justices
signed,

Affairs were now rapidly crystallizing. All persons
who favored the mandates or authority of the new
or unpopular judges were marked men. The people
now were in that temper that confessions were drawn
up, and persons who had offended in this way were
obliged to sign them. And these confessions were,
after being read to the public, published in the news-
papers, and scattered broadcast. ‘Truly the spirit of
independence was working.

From this time on, the residents of the old town
came together without waiting for any special call.
“Eternal vigilance,” they early concluded, “was the

2

price of liberty;” and thoroughly awakened to the
duty of watchfulness, they did not propose to be
caught napping, nor to let their praiseworthy caution
outweigh their zeal and promptitude in action. So
each man, a “son of liberty,” obeyed the covenant of
the town, had a sharp eye for Tories, controlling them
without resource to mob-law, and got himself, and
kept himself, ready for all such action as his coun-
try should need at his hands, whenever the time was
ripe and the command given to thus act.

A Tory to be watched was now Jim Haskins; openly
bragging on the Milldam, when in his cups too much

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LEADING EVENTS. 199

to observe proper caution, of his allegiance to the
king; so much that the other young fellows of the town,
polishing up their old muskets and taking account
of stock of powder and balls, had hard work to keep
their hands off him, but were more than once inclined
to treat him to a coat of tar and feathers. But older
and wiser heads forbade, and the hot-headed element
was forced to submit. As for Abner Butterfield, he
not knowing how much more reason he had to hate the
man, took special pains never to meet Jim, knowing
well that if he did, one or the other must fare badly.
And Jim, feeling sure that certain plans would result
to the complete routing of his rival in goods and es-
tate, if not bring him to an English prison when the
king should count up his victims and his victories,
as there was now not a shadow in the young Tory’s
mind but what that must be the case, leered in his
sleeve, and thought he could afford to wait. So the
two kept apart by a tacit consent.

One night in early September the sick woman
turned uneasily on her pillow. All day her eyes had
followed her daughter in a way that Debby could
not shake off. And now, as she took the cooling
drink for her parched throat, she said, as she gave
the mug back, “I must say something; it is on my
mind, and I best have it over with.”

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200 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“Mother,” Debby put up her hand as if to ward
off a blow, ‘not to-night,” she began.

“To-night,” said Mrs. Parlin, with a return of her
old firmness. “Debby, I’ve lain here day after day,
praying for strength to tell it. I shall never get
off this bed until I do. Pray God to help you to
bear it; for bear it, my girl, you must. Debby, my
husband, and your father, is a traitor to his coun-
try. He declared to me, the night you were away,
his allegiance to the king. And he is a Tory.”

With a wild cry of despair Debby fell to the floor.
Suddenly she arose and faced her mother. “You
are dreaming, or your mind is clouded, mother,” she
began gently; “think no more of these things, for
you are too ill to lie here and meditate on them.”

But Mrs. Parlin put out her hand, now, alas, wasted
and white. “Give me your hand, daughter. I solemnly
swear,” as she felt the young palm, “that your father
declared over and over this fixed determination. Now
will you believe?”

“Yes,” said Debby. But she could not feel that
it was she, Debby Parlin, who was uttering this word.
She seemed dead and cold, and to have no feeling
or emotion of any kind. Truly she ought to be stung
by the disgrace into a newer life, even if one of
keenest agony. er father, John Parlin, a traitor to

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LEADING EVENTS. 201

his country, a thing for all future generations to
scorn as too bad to be mentioned save in terms
of blackest obloquy, to be ever after held up as an
example of the deepest infamy? Her father, who
had held her as a little child on his knee, teaching
her to prattle out childish admiration for the heroic
deeds of his ancestors who had helped to plant and
to save the new country. er father, who had toiled
every day since she could remember, with one aim
in view, and one hope ever before him,—the aim
to help that country when she needed him, and the
hope that the day of resistance to the oppression
of the king might come in his time and generation.
Oh, no! she had been dreaming; and she would
give her mother some quieting medicine, and put all
this dreadful thought aside, and get out into the
fresh air. She was over-tired, and the room was
close. She must get out right away.

“T wouldn’t talk now, mother,” she heard herself
say, as she measured the medicine out in the spoon,
and brought it with a steady hand to the bedside;
“to-morrow you can tell me all about it.’”’ And then
she went out, climbed the Ridge, and sat down under
the silent stars to think it all out.

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202 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

XIV.

IN THE BRITISH COFFEE—HOUSE.

TORY — oh, hateful thought! — worse than if he
were a criminal, who in a moment of passion
had committed some crime for which he must suffer
the penalty — he and his family with him. Then she
could envelop him with her tenderness, and so would
her mother have done, Debby well knew. Oh, how
that mother must have suffered, bearing the first
shock, and the weary days and weeks when it had
eaten into her sore heart, as she lay on her sick-bed!
Debby shivered, and her slender throat contracted
convulsively.

And of course she must give up Miliscent’s friend-
ship; for the granddaughter of that stanch old
patriot, Captain James Barrett, would never speak to
a Tory’s daughter, much less associate with her.
Debby was quite sure she never would. And Perces
Wood for the same reason must be given up. And
Abner, oh, how he would look at her out of those
great brown eyes of his! Debby hid her own for

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Digitized by Microsoft®
IN THE BRITISH COFFEE-HOUSE. 203

very shame, and grovelled on the soft pine-needles
in speechless misery. And all the townspeople would
point at her mother and herself and the children
with fingers of scorn, while every one else was doing
brave things for their country — and Concord Town
—oh, if she were only a man who could fling him-
self into seas of blood, and peril life and home and
family — everything, to help put down the power of
King George, and to show the old town what love
of country was, how her crushed heart would rejoice
— but now!

A little noise in the underbrush startled her at
last. She looked up and saw her father.

“T don’t s’pose you want to speak to me, Deb’rah,”
he said, in his slow way; “but I’m goin’ to say
somethin’ to you, an’ then I’m goin’ for good.”

“You better go first,” flung out Debby in a hard
voice, her young face pitilessly stern as she raised
it.

“T’ve thought it all out many an’ many a time
when you an’ the rest o’ the folks s’posed I was
satisfied in my mind. At night I couldn’t sleep for
the worry of it, and by day it bore into my soul.
And when a man thinks out a thing in such a way,
and comes to his conclusion slowly, he has as good
aright to his opinion as anybody else has to theirs.”

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204. A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“ Father,” asked Debby slowly, when he had finished,
and set his mouth hard together in that way that the

” “were

villagers meant when they said “sot as a mule,
you ever offered money to change your opinion, and
did you take it?”

The man started as if stung, and swore a great
oath, the first his daughter had ever heard from his
lips.

“What do you take me for? Money? Oh, my
God!”

““A Tory can be taken for anything,” said Debby
bitterly.

“This hand of mine,” John Parlin shook it in her
face, “has never been soiled by touch of anything I
couldn’t proclaim to the whole world. I am not to be
bought. You know that, girl.”

“JT thought I knew my father before,’’ said Debby,
in bitter scorn.

“JT did think of you children,” he began; but she
interrupted him fiercely.

“Better that your children had not been born, than
to have a Tory for a father.”

“Our king is our sovereign appointed by God,” he
burst out doggedly. ‘ Besides, any further resistance
by the Colonies is useless, and worse than useless.
Why, girl, the whole Parliament of Great Britain is

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IN THE BRITISH COFFEE-HOUSE, 205

determined to crush us; this last act shows it; there
was hope before, but now there is none, —they can
do it as easily as I could crush an egg-shell.”

“Father,” said Debby quite calmly, all the storm
hidden in her heart, ‘some one has been talking to
you lately, — some one outside of this town, —that I
can see. Who is it?”

He shuffled uneasily on his big feet. With all his
obstinacy, John Parlin had the heart of a child, and
could be as easily led. “That has nothing to do with
it,”’ he said shortly.

“Father,” Debby went up to him and laid her
hand on his arm, “you wouldn’t refuse your daugh-
ter, would you, when she asks you such a simple
question? Father, just think how you’ve always
told me everything since you dandled me on your
knee.”

The man took a hungry look at her face. ‘“ Debby,”
he began; then he broke off suddenly. “It’s non-
sense for you to want to know. What difference does
it make? I’m my own master, and no one can influ-
ence me. I’ve my own mind to make up.”

“Father,” said Debby, and her voice broke, “I
never shall ask you anything more. And you won’t
tell your little girl this one simple thing, father ;”
she hid her face on his arm, and sobbed.

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206 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“T met a man two or three times,” said John
Parlin slowly; ‘‘and he has put the case to me
plainly as I have never had it in my whole life.
God threw him in my way. And he was not a tar-
nal aristocrat neither; he was as poor as I, with
only his hands to maintain him; not even a house
over his head.”

“*Who was he?” asked Debby.

‘A peddler,” said John Parlin, “a poor” —

Debby thrilled from head to foot. All the scene
of her rescue flashed upon her, —the long, tapering
fingers with the exquisite nails; the high bearing
and fine speech; the tones when dropped from the
occasional squeak; and the beautiful manners, as if
she were a duchess to be deferentially treated. Oh!
was this the way to subjugate the high spirit of the
Colonies, to send out disguised serpents to lure
their patriots to destruction? The open field and
the chance of war, —this was easy to face. Oh! if
she could only have known the truth, and charged
him with it, that he might have struck her down
in the wood. Better than to live to such calumny!

“A peddler/”

“‘It is no disgrace, child,” said John Parlin, mis-
taking her tone, “to consort with peddlers. Poor
men are to my liking; and they know whereof they

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IN THE BRITISH COFFEE-HOUSE. 207

speak. This peddler, child, from his very vocation,
tramping about the country, gets at the heart of
the truth.”

“Truth?” cried Debby bitterly, ‘‘O father!”

“‘T could hear from him what I could not have
tolerated from an aristocrat. He hates them as
much as I.”

“ Father,” cried Debby, all in a glow with right-
eous indignation, that swept her as with a torrent,
“I have seen this peddler; I know—oh! I am
sure he is some hateful Englishman in disguise;
he”? —

“There is where you are wrong,” declared John
Parlin obstinately, and using a favorite phrase of
his; “the man whom I saw is not disguised; he
never could be, and cheat me. He was just what
he was. You have ever been apt to jump at con-
clusions, daughter, and to imagine things.”

“But in this case I am right, father,” she argued,
with the same spirit to meet his own, which sent
him back into his old obstinacy. “He had such
long, slim” —

‘*No more—no more,” commanded John Parlin
sharply; “I?ll not have my own daughter contradict
me. The peddler that I saw I could swear was an
honest man. There are many of them, no doubt, God

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208 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

help them in these times, tramping over the coun-
try. Say no more. You were ever an impetuous
little thing, Deb’rah, to jump at things quickly.’’

She flung aside the reproof as a trifle not to be
noticed. ‘‘Go up and talk with Mr. Wood,” she
said at last, ‘‘ or Mr. Whitney, or some of those whom
you have always said knew the whole situation.
Do, father,” she begged.

But he shook his head obstinately. ‘‘ They are
intrenched in their own views; they never talk with
outsiders to hear the truth about the whole country.
They will plunge this town in blood, Deb’rah;
blood — and all spilt for nothing.”

Debby wrung her hands. “Mother is very sick,”
she said hoarsely. “O father! we thought she would
die.”

The man’s face changed swiftly. ‘God help me,”
he groaned. “I’ve haunted this place, Debby,” he
said, under his breath; “ many’s the night I’ve watched
under these trees to see your candle in the window,
and you stepping about. Once when se was the worst,
I almost went in. But I knew that would kill her,
and I kept myself back. Oh, God knows I wish I
could see it all as you do!”

She knew it was useless to urge further. “Where
are you working, father?” she asked suddenly, glan-

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IN THE BRITISH COFFEE-HOUSE. 209

cing at his hands, which showed a respite from farm-
work.

He evaded this, and said presently, “ And now she
is better, and I’ve seen you, so I am best out of the
way. Give me one kiss, daughter.”

For a moment Debby drew back. Then she threw
her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately.
He strained her to his breast with a hungrier grasp
than ever he had clasped her from a little child, —his
first-born; then suddenly thrust her forth, and ran —
this slow, heavy man — out through the trees and down
the Ridge.

“Father, father,” cried Debby, with empty arms.
“Come back —O father’? —

The entrance to the British coffee-house on King
Street, the resort of the high Tories of the town, gave
signs on the evening of the zd of August of the de-
parture of a guest of no inconsiderable importance.
The landlord himself was on the upper step, obsequi-
ously rubbing his fat palms, and casting about in his
fertile mind how further to advance the comfort or the
welfare of a guest whose appearance and bearing be-
spoke wealth and consequence. ‘The horses attached
to the governor’s own carriage pawed the ground in
their eagerness to be off, and shook their manes rest-

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210 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

lessly. The equipage had been sent around as a last
mark of respect, to bear the personage now taking his
leave of Boston Town to the wharf where he was to
embark. Rumor had it that this Englishman stood,
in influence, near to the throne and Parliament; he
was therefore naturally very close to the regard of
Governor Gage, with whom both as governor and as
commander-in-chief of the British forces in America,
he had been often closeted in conference during his
stay in the Province.

As this person of importance passed down the steps,
and was about to place himself within the carriage, a
tall, slender figure, in the uniform of an officer in the
service of King George, came striding down King
Street. He quickened his pace, and presently stood
by the side of the older man, whose figure showed the
portliness of luxurious middle life; and the cordial
hand-shake indulged in, the smiles and chat of famil-
iar understanding, told the onlooker that two good
friends were about to part.

“T will render good account of you, Bernard, to
the different members of our family,” said the elder
man, as he stepped into the carriage, and he paused
to lay his hand approvingly on the young shoulder.
“But best of all, our king, God save him, shall hear
it all to the last word. I’ faith, you may trust me.”’

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IN THE BRITISH COFFEE-HOUSE. 211

“Spare yourself that trouble,” cried the young
officer hastily, and his face darkened.

“Tut, tut, man, you are too modest by half,”
cried the other. “The king shall know it all.
You shall be so intrenched in his Majesty’s favor,
when this paltry matter of the Colonies is settled,
that you can ask what you will, only to obtain
it.”

Bernard put his hand up hastily in protestation;
but the elder man laughed, gave the signal to depart,
and the governor’s equipage rolled down King Street,
the admiration of all eyes.

The young officer, whose face now grew darker than
ever with suppressed dissatisfaction, paused a moment
to recover himself, then, with his usual sang froid, he
turned within the hostelry, to find a gay company of
young British officers, having a roystering time at a
near-by table, in the middle of which stood a steam-
ing bowl of hot punch.

“Ha, Thornton,” called one, as he entered the
doorway, filling his glass again, “here’s to you!
Verily, you are a poor companion these days. Pray,
where have you kept yourself? Come, and drink con-
fusion to these poltroon Yankees;” and he tossed off
his bumper with a gay hand.

The young officer thus addressed put himself into

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212 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

the chair now pushed toward him, and partook very
sparingly of the beverage as the toast was given.
Then he set back his glass, and despite his efforts
to lend himself to the conviviality of the hour, he
was soon becoming lost in revery as the jest went
on.

“Ho, here! wake up!” at last called out the young
man who had first spoken; an officer whose commis-
sion ranked him as lieutenant, but with the eye of his
superior officers upon him for his brilliant promise.
‘‘Egad, by my sword, I believe you’re asleep, Thorn-
ton. It’s this beastly climate that is pulling us all
down; and the Yankees — pah! I wish we could mow
them down and end the business, and get home to
Old England.”

Thornton glanced at the gay flushed face and un-
steady hand that poured another full glass.

“Best not, Harry,” he said, with a meaning look.
“Tf we want to begin the mowing process, it needs
be that we keep our heads cool.”

“T? faith, that’s not necessary!” spoke up a big
hulking officer of more years than the most of them,
interlarding his words with a couple of strong oaths;
“these farmer fellows are easy game. If I had com-
mand now, it would be touch and go with every
mother’s son of them.”

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IN THE BRITISH COFFEE-HOUSE. 213

“What a pity that you haven’t the command,”
observed Thornton dryly, and with a sip at his
glass.

“They’d have small chance to say their prayers
and sing psalms through their noses,” finished the
other, heedless of the laugh that went around the
table at his expense. ‘Confusion to ’em, say I,
and rot their bones! The whole of their carcasses
aren’t worth one good Englishman; and the sooner
they’re punished for their mad rebellion the better.”

“How King George can play along with them in
this way passes any belief,” spoke up another. ‘“ Egad!
Buckthorne is right. Extermination is the only thing,
if we can’t subjugate them speedily.”

Thornton leaned back in his chair and laughed.
“To speak of exterminating full-grown colonies with
such power as have these in this Province, is, for-
sooth, food for amusement that must be enjoyed” —

“But if the leaders were taken and hanged as they
should be,” struck in Buckthorne angrily, and bringing
down his fist on the board till all the glasses rang,
“T swear by my soul these rotten old farmers, that
smell of their bogs, would all fall on their mouldy old
knees and beg for any mercy that Parliament would
give them.”

“T swear it too, Buckthorne,” said the other speaker.

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214. A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“And I, and I,” was taken up by a half-score ot
throats.

“These rotten old farmers, as you are pleased te
call them, Buckthorne,” said Harry, as the babel died
down and he filled anew his glass, oblivious of Thorn-
ton’s appealing eye, “have considerable and whole-
some vigor, as I could tell you, who have chanced at
some of them, on my trips to fill the commissary
orders.”

“Yes, to Concord. Isn’t there a place of that name
where you were despatched a short time ago, Her-
‘ford?” asked one of the half-score who had yelled
so vociferously a moment ago.

“Ay,” said Harry, nodding his bright head; then
he drained his glass; “if you’d seen that old town and
her men as I have, you’d know whereof to speak
better than the drivelling stuff you’ve given us. I tell
you, there’s fight there; and fight to the death.”

“Hoh! Fah/” breathed out the men derisively ;
“and if they wanted to fight—they must fight with-
out ammunition. It’s madness for them to think of
it,’’ cried several.

’

“ Ay, ay,” responded Harry, with an eye that was
unsteady and glistened unnaturally, “that’s it; it ds
madness. Better to have the ringleaders here in Bos-

ton Town mowed down for their wild and senseless

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IN THE BRITISH COFFEE-HOUSE. 215

rebellion, than that these poor villagers should be
slaughtered like sheep.” He pushed his glass away
abruptly, and stared gloomily at the circle, who met
the look with one of surprise.

“ Herford’s struck by one of the village beauties,”
cried Buckthorne coarsely, at a venture. “Some
daughter of a horny-handed farmer has made love to
him,” coupling the words with ribald oaths. “ Here’s
to the damsel of Concord Town; give us her name,
Herford,” he said with a leer. He poured out a stiff
bumper from a bottle standing near, and called to his
brother officers to do the same.

Lieutenant Herford sprang to his feet, his hand on
the hilt of his sword, his blue eyes flashing danger-
ously. “Speak not of any woman here, you who have
mothers or sisters,” he said hoarsely, his voice thick
and unsteady with the wine; “ your lips, Buckthorne,
are too foul for such a use.”

The heavy figure of Buckthorne sprang to an upright
posture, as he dashed his glass to the floor ; and he
swore a great round oath, as he put his hand to his
sword, glaring at the handsome and heated face, that
before he spilled the blood of the Yankees, he would
have satisfaction for the words just spoken.

Instantly all the brother officers were on their
feet, and the coffee-house was in an uproar, every-

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216 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

body pausing in drink and speech to take in the
brawl.

“Are you mad?” cried Thornton, seizing the young
ieutenant’s arm. “Harry, disgrace not yourself by
another word. Think of your mother.”

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PREPARING AN ARENA. 217

XV.

PREPARING AN ARENA.

a NHAND me!” cried Harry, his flushed face

turning white with rage, and shaking off the
grasp of his friend, while one of the high Tories, as the
king’s friends were called, in the corner, with his pipe
and his grog, discussing the political situation with
another of his ilk, roared out for a messenger to be
despatched to the guard-house or barracks, but a short
distance away, for a squad of soldiery to stop the
dispute.

“By my sword,” he said, his big, florid face suffused
with an irritated flush, “these young blades assert
themselves too noisily to suit my taste. Better that
they stay where they belong, in the barracks, and
leave this place to those who can conduct themselves
like English gentlemen.”

The landlord, hearing this from a quarter where sim-
ilar speeches had been aired, and with no desire that
such lucrative customers as “the young blades” should
find other quarters, now deserted the bar, and joined

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218 <A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

himself to the circle to which all eyes were turned,
where the two disputants, the table between them,
were glaring at each other like wild beasts.

“Softly, softly there, young gentlemen,” he began
in his most conciliatory tones; but the roar of angry
voices told him the quarrel had gone too far for him
to prevent, and his rotund figure was thrust unceremo-
niously aside as the young officers closed in around
the two.

“Stand back!” commanded Thornton in low but
passionate tones to them. “ Buckthorne, cannot you
see that Herford has taken a glass too much? Listen
not to words that come at such a time.”

“He meant to insult me!” declared Buckthorne
sullenly, himself too far gone for reason, and glancing
at his comrades in a blustering way; ‘and who throws
in the teeth of Jack Buckthorne aught but what he
can swallow, will have to chew the consequences.”
He tapped the hilt of his sword significantly.

Thornton controlled his choler, and was about to
reply in a way that would have made all well, when
Harry drew his sword, and rushing toward Buck-
thorne, would have thrust him through on the spot
had he not been seized by the two who were nearest,
his weapon spinning over their heads to the flooi
beyond.

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PREPARING AN ARENA. 219

“You braggart,” he was yelling, “ and black-hearted
scoundrel, take that!”

In an instant some one rushed out across the street,
bawling to the sentinel pacing back and forth on duty
before the custom-house ; and another, running to the
corner, met a squad of soldiers on their way to the
barracks. These latter stepped into the British cof-
fee-house; and as Harry seemed to be clearly the
aggressor, they hauled him off summarily to the guard-
house.

The florid-faced Englishman and his high Tory
friend returned to their grog and pipes with great sat-
isfaction after this diversion; the former remarking
that now matters were more to his mind, since one of
the party was by this time well on his way to the
guard-house, where, in order for his complete pleasure,
the remainder should have been carried. And the
other frequenters of the tavern, having seen the thing
to the end, or at least to the quelling of the distur-
bance, now took their minds back to their own affairs.

“You will not deny me the satisfaction, I presume,”
said Thornton, going around the table to speak clearly
into the face of Buckthorne, now red with triumph as
well as liquor, as he leered his great delight at the
ending, ‘“‘of measuring your sword with mine in some
fitting place, after I tell you that besides being a black-

\

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220 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

hearted scoundrel, you are a coward, and not a decent
companion for an English officer to associate with.”

The words were low, and not a person beyond the
circle of young officers could hear them. Yet noth-
ing that could possibly be uttered could strike such
dismay into one of the group. Buckthorne’s face
turned purple and then a livid white. “You know
I didn’t mean, —” he stammered thickly, — “didn’t
intend any offence, only to scare the boy.”

Thornton stood silent and immovable, the picture of
scorn, his determined front adding new terror to that
already possessing the big, burly man he addressed.
As the latter seemed unable to speak, one of the
officers, who perhaps had as much regard for Buck-
thorne as any, which was not saying too much, ven-
tured to suggest, “You know, Lieutenant Thornton,
that what you said for your friend Herford might
apply here; Buckthorne is in his cups.”

“Yes, yes,” muttered Buckthorne, catching at the
straw; “I didn’t know what I was saying; I had taken
a drop too much.”

“The case is different, Gardner, as you are well
aware,” said Thornton coldly; “the disparity in years
is quite enough to make Buckthorne’s behavior das-
tardly. When I add, what we all know, that Herford
cannot take what other men can bear with impunity,

Digitized by Microsoft®
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PREPARING AN ARENA. 221

and that out of liquor he is a gentleman worthy of Old
England, whose soul of honor has never been ques-
tioned, I think you will, to a man, bear me out in pun-
ishing the scoundrel who has brought this disgrace
upon him.”

A silence like the grave fell upon the circle. Buck-
thorne did not move a finger, only stared helplessly
into the face of the man whom, he well knew, as did
they all, it would be death to meet in a sword contest.
At last, after waiting what he considered a sufficient
time for Major Buckthorne to accept his proposition,
Thornton turned to the others, —

“Gentlemen, you will all be witnesses that I have
offered Major Buckthorne complete satisfaction for
my avowed estimate of him, and that he has rejected
it. If any of you, as his friend, desires to take it up,
I will be pleased to hear it.”

No one replying, Lieutenant Thornton said with a
smile playing around his thin lips, “I will be glad to
meet you socially at any time and on any occasion
when Major Buckthorne is not present. Now I go
to the guard-house to report the truth of the case,
and to do what I can for young Herford.” Then he
turned on his heel, and strode out of the coffee-house.

And now the number of white tents of the en-
campment on Boston Common increased as if by

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magic. The quarters in Faneuil Hall were becoming
too largely occupied for comfort, as the British sol-
diery were transported in greater numbers over the
sea to re-enforce the Governor-Commander-in-Chief
Gage. The rattle of musketry, with the fife, drum,
and bugle, pierced the air of Boston streets, and
awoke angry echoes in the souls of her citizens that
the sight of the swarming redcoats was not likely to
assuage. The Town House was now well supplied
with soldiers, where hitherto had been the Merchants’
Exchange, and the meeting-place of the judges and
the governor’s council. A British bayonet seemed to
meet one at every turn, — peaceably, it is true, if not
opposed, — and a British sentinel challenged whom
he would. It was a despotic Crown and Parliament
that spoke in this military display, the determination
to enforce the new and obnoxious laws that were to
break the proud spirit of the Colonists. And twenty
miles away, among the farms, by a quiet river, there
was this moment preparing an arena that should pro-
claim aloud to a waiting world, God’s determination
also, against which no Crown or Parliament could
contend.

And now the days of petitions and memorials to the
Governor, the Council, the Parliament, and the Crown,
might be said to be over. All appeals that could be

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made and yet retain self-respect, had been presented;
every argument, clear, forcible, and patient, had been
drawn up by the patriotic statesmen of the oppressed
Colonies. The spirit and temper of the leaders had
forced many expressions of admiration even from
those who would have been glad to be avowed ene-
mies. No opportunity was there for a deserved pun-
ishment to fall upon the faithful American subjects
of their king; for they had served him with a loyalty
that rose above privation, suffering, and oppression.
Nothing now remained but slavery. Instead of peti-
tion to an earthly king, was now a last prayer to God,
and a preparation for armed resistance. Action was
now the word.

It became now a necessity to Concord Town to
have the people often assemble for counsel and de-
liberation, and that interchange of patriotic fervor,
that the spirit of liberty leaping to break its chains,
must communicate by its divine right.

They now constantly called themselves and their
neighbors together on their Common, made decis-
ions as to those matters they deemed appropri-
ately arranged in such meetings, and forwarded all
important proceedings to the Continental Congress
at Philadelphia, keeping in touch with that body
with wonderful clearness of judgment and despatch,

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And the struggle over the sitting of the court that
was to hold its sessions in the old town on the 13th
of September, was urged with such determination
not to allow it unless it was carried on in the old
way, that the strenuous efforts of the committee
chosen to wait upon the judges with this decision,
won the day. The written declaration from the
court was read to the people and then published,
“declaring it inexpedient to open the court, ‘lest it
should be construed that we act in consequence of
the late unconstitutional Act of Parliament.’” And
then long-delayed attention was directed to dischar-
ging the debt of obligation to the Tory element in
their midst, and to all who had, or were helping for-
ward in any way, the “unconstitutional plan of govern-
ment” proposed by King George and his Parliament.

It took Simon and Jabez both to run up over
the hill and down the Ridge to tell Debby of the
rousing big meeting, —“ when we are going for the
Tories, yes, sir!’?—and they wondered at the lack of
animation this news elicited, although her eyes shone
clear and bright in her pale face.

“Hush,” she said, drawing them out from the
kitchen where the mother sat now, wan and spirit-
less, her hands employed in sewing, while her thoughts
were ever on the one subject near her heart; “don’t

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let mother hear you say the word ‘Tories.’” She
closed the door, and faced them in the woodshed.

“Why not?” asked Jabez, breathless from his long
run. “I sh’d think ’twas the best med’cine a sick
person could have — to know there’s going to be judg-
ment come to those fellows; shouldn’t you, Si?”

Simon grunted some inaudible reply, taking his cue
from Debby’s face.

“Mother’s very weak,” said Debby, “and the
least thing upsets her, so you just mustn’t do it,
boys.” Her lips were set together hard, and she
held the door firmly closed.

“All right,” said Simon carelessly. “Now she’s
sick, Aunt Lyddy’s like mother; we have to pick
and choose, as you know, Debby, just what things
we can talk about before her. Jabe and I hold
our meetings out by the wood-pile or in the barn.
Well, good-by, cousin; sorry you can’t go to the
Common. This is one of the times you’d rather
be a boy, I expect,” he added saucily, hoping to
rouse her old spirit. But she didn’t smile, nor
seem to notice the remark; and the boys ran off,
their delight over the approaching meeting consider-
ably subdued.

“Beats all how trouble and work have broke her
down,” said Jabez, as they hurried along the Old

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Bay Road to the Centre. “I wouldn’t b’lieve it
could be Debby.”

Simon snapped his jaws together hard. ‘‘ What’s
the use o’ talking about it? Of course till Uncle
John comes back, she can’t laugh and carry on.”
He was sorely put to it to explain to himself a cer-
tain attitude of mind in his cousin that did not seem
to be the outcome of grief or worry. It was enough,
he kept arguing to himself, to break down any girl,
even one so self-contained as Debby, to have the
double blow of the father’s sudden disappearance,
appealing as it did to the curiosity of the village,
and the mother’s dreadful illness; yet still, when
the arguments were all in, Simon felt unsatisfied and
restless.

“Come on,” he added roughly, ‘‘or the best of
the time will be over;” which had the effect to make
Jabez drop all other considerations save getting over
the ground as speedily as possible, especially as he
had long ago accepted the common theory now becom-
ing settled in the town, that the troublous times had
unsettled John Parlin’s wits, making him wander from
home beyond the long and careful search they had
given for him.

It was a busy crowd that greeted their eyes long be-
fore they ran into its midst, — thoroughly determined,

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yet not turbulent, knowing that full justice would be
done, and the honor of the old town most thoroughly
vindicated. All testimony was in against the offend-
ers, and nothing now remained to be done, except, as
one old farmer said, to “let them know there is a God
in Israel.”

They were choosing a committee to try the Tories,
when the boys arrived, and the excitement was at its
height. Suddenly a wild yell smote the air. Every-
body started, and some men grasped their muskets for
action if need be; for by this time it was becoming
quite the custom to take along the firearm if one so
desired. It kept one in practice by the mere handling
of it, and suited well the spirit of the day.

“Forbear to use violence,” cautioned some of the
fathers of the town, always in evidence at these meet-
ings; and mingling with the crowd, they essayed to
allay the fears the sudden disturbance had made. But
men’s blood was easily fired in those exciting days;
and they looked in each other’s faces and waited, pre-
pared for action when the time arrived. It came,
bringing not the thing they feared, but something
quite different.

A man was seen running down the town centre to
the Milldam pursued hotly by some half-dozen others,
whose near approach to their victim had brought forth

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the yell of anger and despair. He fairly ran into
the heart of the crowd, panting and furious, and only
drew breath when he felt it close upon him. It was
Jim Haskins, now universally spoken of as Jim Has-
kins the Tory.

“ve come to be protected!” he cried in a loud
tone, and pointing a shaking finger at his pursuers.
“Ts there any law that will hound a man for having
opinions of his own?”

“You’ve come to a poor place, Jim,” said one of the
older citizens of the town gravely. “In the temper of
the time there is not much safety for one who gives
allegiance to a tyrant, at the expense of his own towns-
men. Keep quiet until the excitement of your pursuit
has abated, then slip out as quietly as you can, and
get to your home. It is the only way to save your
miserable skin, I fear.”

“They are the ones,” cried Jim in a loud, vindictive
voice, again pointing to the small band that had pur-
sued him, now quietly waiting on the outskirts of the
crowd, having run him to earth, as it were, well con-
tented to bide their time, “ who would break the law
and molest me. Here are the officers of the town,”
—he looked around into their serious faces as he

”

spoke,— “I am safe here;”’ and he smiled defiantly

at his persecutors.

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“Vou are safe not an instant,’ said the citizen
sternly. ‘‘Can you not feel the righteous indigna-
tion, man, that is at last to break upon the heads of
all who, like you, have turned traitor to their country.”
He spoke with suppressed feeling, but in a low voice,
to avoid adding to the inflammable material around
him aught that would hasten this man’s doom.

But Jim was not to be silenced. And he continued
to attract attention to himself by adjuring all persons
before him to give liberty of speech and action to the
individual who, like himself, chose to be a most loyal
adherent to King George in all his plans for his sub-
jects at home and abroad. So that at last the business
of the meeting was for the time given up, to make way
for his loud, sonorous speech.

This quite delighted him, to find that he had at last
something to say which the people would hear; and
he proceeded with a great degree of confidence to a
louder burst, mistaking the growing silence which was
now pervading all the circle.

« Fellow cit’zens,” he cried, thrusting out his right
hand in the way he admired in oratorical attempts, yet
had never had the opportunity to display, “I stand be-
fore you to-day to say I am proud to support the king,
and” —

“Cut the miserable wretch short,’”’ cried a dozen

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voices, that sent the cry out from as many different
quarters ; “and toss his carcass over here,” yelled the
waiting men who had followed him to the Common;
“we'll teach him what it means to turn traitor.”
There was at the same time a sudden rush made; and
the compact mass of men trembled as if a wedge had
struck them in a vulnerable point, forcing admittance
to the centre.

It was all done in a moment, but not before Jim saw
the swiftness of his peril; and had there been room, he
would have sunk to his knees entreating mercy. As
it was, he seized and clutched and strained at all those
who had the misfortune to stand near him, making
the air again resound with wild, incoherent cries that
upbore the discordant yells of the infuriated crowd.
They had him at last, pulling and hauling several
along with him in his frantic clutches of despair; but
his captors speedily loosened his hold upon all such
and bore him shrieking off.

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XVI.

“THE SECRET MUST BE DISCLOSED NOW.”

T was a fearful moment. The crowd parted enough
to allow the strong hands seizing the unhappy
man, to bear him with a rush through the howling
mass of men that closed up and surrounded him and
his captors. It was impossible to distinguish his cries
for help, as he was thus borne along mid the yells
of “ Horsewhip him!” “ A tar-and-feather coat!” and
“The river — To the river with him!”

This last cry prevailed; and off over the Milldam the
throng swept, with small thought for any in their way,
least of all for the comfort of the luckless wight in
their midst who was at last to taste the penalty of be-
ing a Tory, and to know what it meant to turn against
his country and his countrymen.

In the mad rush of the first moment, when shoulder
was knocked against shoulder, and the triumphant
crowd surged down over the Milldam bearing their
captive, it was easy enough to drown the notes, stento-
rian though they were, of those in authority, left on the

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Common, commanding the tumult to cease and that
the victim be released. But after this first moment,
the voice of the fathers of the town began to be heard
with its old insistence ; and one after the other of those
who, though not taking active part in the violent
proceedings, had yet put forth no hand to stay them,
commenced to bestir themselves on the side of law
and order. The foremost one was a young man, tall
and broad shouldered, up to whose honest blue eyes
crept the flush of remorse at not sooner stepping into
action.

“For shame!” he cried in ringing tones, that
pierced like a clarion note far over the crowd, and
made them for an instant haste over the road with re-
doubled speed, so fearful were they that he led an
opposing force. ‘Would you thus deal with traitors ?
Hold, and let the law take its course!”

When they, looking back, saw that it was Abner But-
terfield alone who stood forth and thus defied them,
they shook their brown fists in derision, and laughed
triumphantly, and rushed on.

“Come on, fellow-townsmen who do not believe in
riot!” cried Abner, all the blood gone to his head,
and waving his right arm in the air; “or, by Heaven,
I'll go alone.” He sprang down the road, and madly
plunged after the swift retreating crowd, one thought

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only uppermost in his heart, — to save the screaming,
struggling wretch he could now hear and see, as the
throng tossed him up and down as they hauled him
along.

It was Jim, — Jim, the hated rival,—the man who
had insulted him, and who had turned traitor; but
perhaps Debby had loved him, it was impossible
to be quite sure; and perhaps Jim would turn back
to love for his country, if he could only be kept
from drinking. Then, if she had loved him before,
she would surely love him anew. At any rate, for
her sake he must be saved, and this blot kept from
the dear name of his town. He ran, he shouted,
he plunged madly on. And at last, oh, blessed relief !
the sound as of rushing feet came to his ears, and
the road was full of eager, hurrying men swift to
follow his brave leadership, and the onslaught for
Jim’s liberty had begun in earnest.

But the maddened crowd, seeing here a rescue-
force growing quite formidable, suddenly executed a
sharp défour, and deserting their original plan of car-
rying their victim to a quieter and better-adapted
place of vengeance, now plunged down to the river
bank with only one thought, — to give the Tory such
a ducking that if he escaped with his miserable life,
it would be his luck. Fast on their heels came

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the smaller company of rescuers. And now, down
the road followed the fathers of the town in all de-
grees of haste, with determination and stern resolve,
yet basing all their hopes on Abner and his slender
force.

“Quick! Divide the company! Half keep in the
rear, and close up; the others come with me,” cried
Abner under his breath, the men slipping easily into
the position of followers. None too soon. The men
holding Jim were — one, two, three —just sending him
off, when a mighty onslaught of blows, only from the
fists, it is true—but who knows anything harder
than the Provincial fist that understood how to hit,
and when? Down they rained, from Abner’s little
company in front, and from Abner’s small crowd in
the rear, like sledge-hammers, crowding, pushing,
and thrusting the surrounded men into a snug knot
where they could not use their arms to advantage.
“Leave him go!” roared Abner, his blood well up,
and feeling the eyes of all the town fathers upon
him, “or we'll mash you to the powder you deserve
to be, for bringing disgrace upon this town.”

To right and to left the men were knocked and
jostled, till there was small hope of telling friend
from foe as they struggled and kicked and fought.
When the confusion and smoke of the encounter

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cleared off, no man could say exactly how it had
all taken place. Some were lying on the ground,
where they had been flattened and worsted, and all
were looking at Butterfield bearing away down the
road the Tory Jim, such a goodly crowd supporting,
as made it useless to think of any successful inter-
vention. Besides, here were now the fathers of
the town closing in on their rear at the river brink
with such solemn and determined intentions as made
themselves known at once; and the crestfallen crowd
oozed off, as many as were fortunate enough to do
so, the rest being taken into custody as ringleaders
of a mob who would put in jeopardy the good name
of the old town, to be dealt with as might seem
best after a council.

“Mother,” cried Abner, his brown face aflame,
and his honest blue eyes seeking hers somewhat
anxiously, the truth must be told, as he dreaded
her reply, “here’s Jim,” dragging him within the
kitchen door. “You can go now,” to the men who
had accompanied them to the Butterfield farm; “he’s
all right here,” as they turned away.

“Don’t dare to bring that man here,” cried Mrs.
Butterfield, her arms akimbo; “this house can’t
hold me and a traitor.”

“Mother,” said Abner, remonstrating, and, thrust-

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ing Jim, pale-faced and shrinking, back of him, he
spread out his hands entreatingly, “think what you
would do to refuse him shelter at this time. He’s
been treated sorely, and there’s no telling what the
crowd will do to him if he’s caught before they
cool down.”

“He better be torn limb from limb,” cried Mother
Butterfield savagely, standing erect in the middle
of her kitchen floor, her eyes blazing. “Ay, and
give his bones to the winds. A man to turn against
his country, and to use his foul tongue at such a
time, should be thrust from every hearthstone.”
She took one step with threatening gesture, and
looked so very dreadful that Jim slunk down to the
floor, pleading feebly for mercy. “He shall go from
this door this instant!” She raised her large but
shapely hand in command to her son. It was no
time for mild measures.

“And I say he shall zof stir from this house until
I deem it safe for him to do so,” said Abner in a low,
clear voice, every syllable cutting her like a knife.
It was the first time in all his life of twenty-five years
that he had ever set himself against her will. She
stared at him, her arm still uplifted, gazing blankly
into the eyes that fastened themselves on her face as
if they were never to move. She opened her mouth

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as if to speak, but no words came. And still she
stood and stared.

“Say no more, mother,” Abner was speaking, she
felt rather than heard. “And, Jim, you better go into
the other room.” It was all done quietly enough now;
and somehow or other Mrs. Butterfield was alone in
her kitchen, and going about in a dazed way at her
housework.

“T won’t answer for your life if you get out of here,”
said Abner to Jim, the door well shut behind them.
“Vou best go up to the loft, and stay quiet a bit.”
He restrained a violent desire to kick him every step
of the way up the stairs. Jim turned a wild-eyed
face on him. “Debby,” he made out to say.

“Stop, you hound!” roared Abner, at the end of
his patience, and feeling all the reaction of doubt at
the wisdom of his course; “it needs but little more
from you to make me want to throw your vile carcass
out to any one who would treat it as it deserves, and
not raise a finger to save you.”

“But I say, Debby ” —

With one bound, Abner was on him, tugging like a
wild beast for his overthrow; and with a twist of his
brawny arm he thrust him up the stairs, bestowing as
he went, the kicks he had so longed to give, then
strode to the barn, saddled his horse, and not allowing

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his passion to cool, he tore madly down the road,
and never drew rein till he reached the Parlin
cottage.

“What is it between Jim and you?” he demanded,
not minding in the least that Mrs. Parlin was present,
silent and cold, spinning in the corner. “I will know.”
His eyes blazed at her, and he repeated in an angry
tone. No one had ever heard Abner Butterfield
except in slow-going and quiet accents, and for a mo-
ment Debby lost herself.

“ Abner — Abner” — she cried, hurrying to him,
to clasp her hands, “‘oh! what is it?”

He put up one hand to stay her approach, all his
soul at arms against her, yet madly devoured with
his great love. “It is no time to parley, Deborah,”
he said hoarsely, his great eyes looking her through
and through. She could see the veins on his fore-
head swollen, and his stern compressed lips white
with the effort to restrain the hot, impetuous speech.
“God knows I have loved you all my life, as no man
ever loved woman before, and held my peace, as I
felt you couldn’t love me until some little time back,
and then it seemed as if God was giving me a chance.
And now Jim dares to take your name on his lips.
The hound!”

Debby put up one white hand to stay the passion-

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ate avowal. Oh! why should it come now, when all
hope was gone? She—a traitor’s daughter —to be
loved by an honest man!

“But now I will speak, although it is an insult to
ask you, if you ever loved him — he—a traitor.
Deborah Parlin, sooner than love one with traitor
blood in his veins, one should pray to die. God can
forgive everything else but that; every other disgrace
but that can be wiped out. Tell me you did zo¢ love
him; that’s what I will know now.”

“JT never loved him,” said Debby, standing pale
and cold, with her head thrown back and her nostrils
quivering.

“Thank God!” cried Abner, in a burst of joy. He
seized her hand, but she pulled it away.

“Don’t speak,” she cried, her voice breaking.
“O Abner! do not make it harder for me to bear.
Speak no further, only go.”

“T will speak now, Deborah,” said Abner solemnly,
and with such determination that it was useless to
impede his course. “I have kept silent too long, God
knows, and no power on earth shall stop me now.
Will you be my wife?”

Deborah gave a low cry of pain, and with a mighty
effort held herself in check enough to utter, “‘ No —oh,
no! do not ask it.”

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“You cannot love me, then,” he flung at her through
set lips.

“Do not ask me. I can never marry you. O
Abner, Abner! I must not say more.”

Her quivering shoulder was suddenly grasped. Both
of them had forgotten the presence of the mother. She
held Debby now as in a vise, and, with a voice not
lifted from her ordinary one, said, “‘The secret must
be disclosed now; but, on your soul of honor,” to
Abner, “you must not tell it.”

“ Mother — mother !” shrieked Debby, “stop — think
what you are doing. Abner, do go.” She seized his
arm now in her anguish, and wound her pleading fin-
gers around it. “Oh! I implore you, if you love me,
to go.”

“He shall hear it,” commanded her mother sternly,
“then he will see how useless it is to plead for your
love. My daughter can never wed, Abner. No
honest man would want traitor blood in his children.
Her father has forsworn his country. He is a Tory!”

Abner turned, and gave one look at Debby’s face,
to see there the awful truth confirmed.

“Go,” she cried, with face drawn and white, “tell
it not, Abner. My mother has answered you. I have
my cross to bear. Go, and leave me to bear it.”

He obeyed, all his fire burned down. And, stunned

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by the news into more than his usual quiet acceptance
of fate’s denials, he passed out silently. Debby waited
till the door closed, and he was on his horse; then she
turned to her mother, and held out her arms. “I’m
tired,’’ she said, ‘and we have only got each other,
mother,” and fell fainting to the floor.

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XVII.

RAPID PREPARATIONS.

T was no longer possible for the old town by the
river of the peaceful name to remain quiet. The
God of righteous war had already marked her for his
own, to proclaim to waiting worlds the note of liberty.
She was henceforth to move on fast to meet her
destiny.

And now came the day of retribution to the Tories.
Patience had become, by this time, a crime; and the
three or four traitors to their country and their towns-
men were duly recorded and dealt with. Each citi-
zen was a veritable “son of liberty,” and proud
enough to avow himself as such, feeling equal to a
whole corps of the militia, in his one beating breast
and his two good arms. And the work of preparation
went briskly on. The meetings at this time were on
short call, and most informal. Only one spirit bound
the entire assemblies; that was the spirit of liberty,
nevermore to be quenched. A committee in which

the neighboring towns were represented, was chosen

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RAPID PREPARATIONS. 243

to take care of the Tories; and all things were well
under way for the final struggle.

Up in one of the front bed-chambers of the Lee
mansion, burned the candles in their tall silver can-
dlesticks, flanking the high carved mantel. Another
lighted pair stood on the centre mahogany table, with
its carved claw feet and its generous surface, now
strewn with papers, and well drawn away from the
big carved and brightly polished four-poster, with its
silken tester and counterpane. The old clock in the
corner ticked in ponderous tones the hour away, and
the long mirror with its little gilt divisions across its
glassy surface reflected back all the solid magnifi-
cence of the spacious apartment and its solitary oc-
cupant. He was a man above middle life, restless
and unhappy, to judge by his face and movements.

He seated himself in his carved oaken chair, and
took up his quill, dallying with it as one who has a
hateful task before him. And after a few ineffectual
trials in the way of a beginning, born out of an angry
and perturbed mind, he threw it down; and hastening
from his seat, he went to the window, drew aside the
curtain, and looked out into the night. Before him
spread his ample meadows, swelling away from the
gentle river flowing in caressing curve around them.
As far as his eye could reach, he could say with

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pride, “Mine.” There were the barns and outhouses,
a long line, in that state of thrift that bespoke the
well-to-do and important farmer, that member of the
community whose bidding was law and gospel — if —
ah, if! He sighed involuntarily, and let the brocaded
curtain slip from his fingers, as he moved away to
divert his thought. Had these townsmen of his any
sense, and wisdom to discern the practical issues of
life, they must see, as did he, how useless the strug-
gle against the mighty force arraying to crush them.
Why had they not followed him, and his advice?
Why was he hated and execrated, a very name to de-
spise, as the children passed by and pointed to him?
Time was when he had been wont to receive that
honor given to one whose word was law and gospel
to the simpler country folk, and to notice with com-
placence the obsequious homage of those rustics who
now were setting up opinions for themselves. Fools
— fools —he said to himself, an angry glow over-
spreading his features.

And yet, fools as they were, they had him in a tight
place, those rustics had. And unless he signed that
paper yonder, lying on the shining mahogany top, it
would go ill with him and his. Why did not the
mother country, by one summary blow, end this incipi-
ent, foolhardy rebellion, and come to the rescue of all

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such stanch upholders of English law as se and his
Tory friends? He stepped back, and thrust the cur-
tain aside angrily, to glance out across the quiet
meadows and peaceful river, as if along their outlines
could be seen the advancing army that was to him the
only hope of safety to his town and to the Colonies.

But the peaceful river shimmered on, undisturbed
by presence of the flower of England’s army; and,
watching from the stately Lee mansion, he heaved a
great sigh, and went back to the big table once more.

“Whereas I, Joseph Lee of Concord, Physician, on
the evening of the first ultimo, did rashly and without
consideration,” so a large sheet of paper, lying flat be-
fore him, showed up to his angry eye, as its preamble.
Well he knew the rest of it, and that document un-
signed when it was called for in the morning, no one
could tell the result. There was determination now,
so fixed as to be unhealthy to meddle with, in all the
towns around, that sympathizers with their country’s
foes should meet with summary treatment once for all;
and he, Joseph Lee, understood, and had silently re-
ceived his sentence at his outraged fellow-citizens’
hands.

But he had several bong hours yet before the morn-
ing dawn, when his signature must be placed to that
hateful paper. Wild dreams of what might happen

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in this reprieve flashed across his heated brain. It
might be possible that the long-looked for British
army, his godsend, would descend, as they were sure
to some time, upon this quiet town, and compel its
surrender. If it would only happen this September
night! He even went to the window again, on restless
feet, and peered out as if he had half a mind to be-
lieve he saw them coming to victory, and release for
him. But, alas for his hopes! The morrow was to
bring only disgrace for him. By its dawn the paper
was to be signed, to be carried away, and read to the
people who were clamoring for satisfaction.

The old clock ticked away, every beat striking
into his angered and feverish brain. “Best have it
over with,” he cried to himself at last; and, hurrying
back, he snatched up the quill where he had flung
it— “did rashly and without consideration make a
private and precipitate journey from Concord to
Cambridge, to inform Judge Lee” —how his eye
glowed now at thought of this expedition !— “that
the country was assembling to come down (and on
no other business), that he and others concerned
might prepare themselves for the event, and with
an avowed intention to deceive the people; by which
the parties assembling might have been exposed to
the brutal rage of the soldiery, who had timely notice

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to have waylaid the roads, and fired on them while
unarmed and defenceless in the dark; by which
imprudent conduct I might have prevented the salu-
tary designs of my countrymen, whose intentions
were only to request certain gentlemen, sworn into
office on the new system of government, to resign
their offices, in order to prevent the operation of
that (so much detested) act of the British Parlia-
ment for regulating the government of the Massa-
chusetts Bay; by all which I have justly drawn
upon me the displeasure of my countrymen.”

He compelled himself to read it through, knowing
it by heart as he did. “When I coolly reflect on my
own imprudence, it fills my mind with the deepest
anxiety. I deprecate the resentment of my injured
country, humbly confess my errors, and implore the
forgiveness of a generous and free people, solemnly
declaring that for the future I will never convey any
intelligence to any of the Court party, neither di-
rectly nor indirectly; by which the designs of the
people may be frustrated, in opposing the barbarous
policy of an arbitrary, wicked, and corrupt adminis-
tration.

CoNncorD, Sept. 19, 1774.”

Again he threw the quill the table length, and
sprang to his feet to pace up and down the long

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apartment, anger overflowing his breast, as he clinched
his hands together, and swore by all that was most
dear to him that he would never attach his name
to that paper. And his wife came to the door, and
knocked timidly, and, in the exercise of her love,
daring to knock again, though she got no response.
And the night wore on, and the gray dawn came
up, and the morning flush followed, and still the
weary and anguished man strode on, knowing that
in the end he should sign it just as surely as that
the sun would burst over the hill-top yonder, to
tell of a new day. But just a little longer; see,
he had an hour, he glanced up at the clock ticking
away like an executioner, before he should be humik
iated to the dust. He flung himself exhausted into
his big carved chair, and leaned his head upon his
breast for a second’s repose. What! is this the
trumpet signal of triumph echoing down the street
of Concord Town? See his countrymen, those who
so lately met him with averted looks and cold dis-
dain, now behold them trembling and sueing for
mercy as the conquering train, brilliant in their gor-
geous uniforms and gay trappings, sweep by. Ha—
ha—now the fools know; and how they plead with
him, the rich and influential Joseph Lee, to inter-
cede with the governor and the British emissaries

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for favor; for Joseph Lee, for steadfast adherence to
his Majesty’s cause in the Colonies, has been prom-
ised rich emoluments, and henceforth his shall be
the path of royal purple and fine linen. Hear them
cheer for him—those splendid fellows, the “flower
of the British Army.” Hear them —

“Open the door, O husband! I pray you in mercy,
open the door. They have come for the paper.”

He starts from his sleep, gives one baffled, angry
glance at the old clock ticking away his pride and his
old traditions and his liberty, seizes the quill, dashes
down a trembling, hasty Joseph Lee, at the bottom of
the manuscript, undoes the door, and silently thrusts
the paper out to his wife, who, weeping, would have
kissed his hand had he not bitterly withdrawn it and
locked himself in again.

And seven days later, on Sept. 26, the whole town
was “resolved into a committee of safety,” and it was
“voted to raise one or more companies to march at a
minute’s warning.” The committee of correspondence
was appointed, and delegates to the proposed Provin-
cial Congress were chosen. Concord was nearly ready
for the great struggle. But one thing more of great
importance remained to be achieved. This was the
Provincial Congress.

On this same day, the 26th, when events so fate-

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ful were being prepared for by the citizens of Concord
Town and the neighboring boroughs, out of the Brit-
ish coffee-house in Boston Town strolled Bernard
Thornton, light of foot and of unmoved countenance,
but with a heart ill at ease. He went steadily down
King Street, crossed over the intervening space to the
Common, where, threading his way among the white
tents, he came to the object of his search, all as casu-
ally as if the meeting had been of chance. There he
was, the very special redcoat whom the dark eye rested
upon, though it gave no sign of any recognition. The
soldier was pacing leisurely up and down on guard,
more for the sake of the perfunctory exercise than for
any real good to ensue. Thornton came to a halt,
and spoke twice before the man appeared to hear.

“Oh, my good fellow! are you deaf?” cried the
young British officer pleasantly. “Never a word can
I get out of you. How goes the world with you, Par-
lin? Well, I hope.”

The man raised a heavy-eyed face, stolid and un-
communicative, with that sort of hold-fast quality
sometimes called firmness, that should be termed
obstinacy, and answered never a word.

“Not sorry you have seen the best way to help your
countrymen, eh?” queried the young officer.

“No, I’m not sorry,” said John Parlin doggedly.

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“That’s right. Take my word for it, you are
kinder to your townsmen than if you stayed and
made one more to urge them on to a reckless folly
that is inexcusable. There is a terrible reckoning to
come upon them, my man. The only way to avert it
is for England to rise up in her power as soon as pos-
sible, and strike one decisive and short, sharp blow.
Once she does that, and the Colonies are taught wis-
dom; and all who have served his Majesty and the
English Parliament will be rewarded with honor and
riches. You, Parlin, will be in the end the benefactor
of your family and your misguided townsmen.”

Still no answer.

“Mister,” said John Parlin, when the pause was
becoming awkward, “my little gal, my Debby, knows
it now, and we never’ll meet again.” He snapped
this out mechanically, and never turned his heavy
eyes from Thornton’s face.

“Eh, your daughter? Have you been out to Con-
cord to see her?” queried the young officer all ina
breath, with a quick glance that would have pierced
any less stolid countenance.

“My little gal, my Debby, knows it now, and
we’ll never meet again,” repeated his Majesty’s
new subject, without a change of face.

“Nonsense, man. She’ll be rejoiced at your good

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sense, when the end comes, at any rate. You are
earning money steadily, and laying it up for your
family; and when it is all over, as it surely must
be soon,” his dark, lambent eyes gleamed, “none
will be more rejoiced than this daughter of yours.
Cheer up, the call to arms will be ere long. You
are pining for action, as are we all.”

“My Debby knows it, and we’l] never meet again,”
repeated John Parlin, without a change of muscle.

“Trust me to make you easy on that score,” re-
plied the young officer, not without a touch of an-
ger; “and hark ye, John Parlin, an unwilling
subject of his Majesty does not receive, at the final
reckoning, a share of the honor and the recompense.”

“Y’m not sorry,” said John Parlin stolidly, and
not turning his eyes away.

“That’s well. Of such stuff are good British
subjects made. I will reconnoitre, and bring you
word from Concord Town. Believe me that all will
be well.” He stepped lightly on his way. John
Parlin, in his Majesty’s uniform, marched back and
forth as before, with no change of countenance or
manner.

That afternoon, on the old Bay Road, at the out-
skirts of Concord Town, a venerable man, footsore
and weary, paused to ask permission to rest beside

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a cottage door. He was slim and bent, and his long
white hair flowed over his thin shoulders, as he
leaned trembling on his staff. The children playing
beside the door ran in and shouted out that a poor
old beggar-man was there, and couldn’t he sit down
in a chair in the kitchen. This brought the good
wife to the door, with pity in her eye. She was
wiping up her dishes, and mechanically went on with
her task, carefully polishing up the bowl in her
hand on the long brown towel, as she listened to
his tale of woe with a sympathizing ear, the children,
with their fingers in their mouths, hovering near.

‘“‘Yes, good man, come in,” she cried, holding
wide the door. ‘Nancy, set a chair. Susan, don’t
get in his way so. Here, Jonas, give him your
arm,” to the biggest boy in the crowd.

“You are very good,” sighed the old man, as he
sank into the wooden chair; “these be troublous
times, and I did not know that I should find so
much kindness.”

“Troublous the times may be, and you may well say
so,” replied Dame Woodward, going back to her dish-
washing with a backward glance at him; “but that’s
no reason why we shouldn’t look well to the poor
within our gates. I’m sorry for you. How far have
you come?”

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254 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“Quite a piece — quite a piece,” said the old man
feebly, nodding his head, “so far I disremember.”

“You must be very tired and hungry,” said Dame
Woodward pityingly. “May the Lord forgive me for
not thinking of it sooner!” She dashed down her
towel across the pile of dishes waiting to be dried;
and, going to the buttery, she returned with a slice of
corn bread. “I will make you a cup of tea,” she said,
hurrying to the kettle hanging on the crane.

“Thank the Lord you have tea to give me!” cried
the old man, in a revived voice. ‘“ ’Twould rest my
bones more than to take ten years off from them, to
get an honest cup of English tea.”

“ English tea!” cried the dame, nearly dropping the
big blue cup and saucer, and turning a red and angry
countenance upon him. ‘Who are you to come to
Concord Town and talk of English tea? Never a drop
can you get here to wet your throat. You may search
from one end of the place to the other. No, we
drink nothing that is mixed by tyrants, and stamped
by a wicked Parliament.” She was so very angry that
the old man’s head went down on his breast, and he
blubbered and whimpered, and gurgled that he didn’t
mean any offence; but it was so long since he had
tasted tea, and he was so very tired, and he hoped she
would forgive him, and all that.

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“Don’t scold him, mother,” begged Jonas; “see
him shake. He’s old, and he didn’t know any better.”

“You must excuse me, sir,” said the dame, hurry-
ing to pour an infusion from a pot by the fire into the
cup, and covering it with boiling water from the kettle
on the crane; “but I’m sore worked up indeed to
think that you’d believe for a moment that a house in
Concord Town could hold that wicked king’s tea.
Here, drink this, poor man, it will rest you; for it is
an honest cup, brewed in the spirit of liberty.”

“T am better now. I need no tea,” said the old
man, not offering to take the cup she held forth.

“Yes, you must drink it,” said the good wife.
“You are beaten with your journey.” She thrust it
under his nose. ‘“ You will say that it makes you well,
when once it is down.”

Thus pressed, the stranger had no alternative but to
accept the cup, out of which he took gingerly a small
swallow, and then precipitately sought the door by a
series of jerks that were supposed to represent age in
a hurry.

“Tt is excellent — excellent,” he said tottering back,
and wiping his mouth on his ragged sleeve; “but
my stomach is weak—loss of food, dear madam —
my long walk. Pardon me.” He sat down, mum-
bling away deep in his throat things that no one un-

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256 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

derstood, although the children crowded him closely,
not to lose a word.

“He’s hungry, mother, don’t you understand,” said
Susan, who succeeded in getting the closest to him.
“Do get him something to eat, quick,” with great sym-
pathy, as she was always in that state.

“Pm sure I will give him something to stay his hun-
ger,” said her mother, somewhat mollified as she felt
this might be the reason for the low condition, unable
to more than taste her splendid herb tea. ‘“ Here is
the best I have,” bringing the corn slice.

The stranger shook his head feebly. ‘Could one
of your little ones put the bits into my mouth?” he
asked in a faint voice.

“You poor soul, yes,” cried the good dame, quite
won over from her resentment; “though I wish you
would take the tea, ’*twould quite bring you to.”

“Let me feed him — let me,” cried Susan, springing
for the blue plate on which reposed the slice of corn
bread.

“T want to,” piped Nancy, on her tiptoes.

“You can’t either of you do it straight,” broke in
Jonas. “TI shall do it myself.”

Thereupon a scuffle ensued, in which the blue plate
changed hands so many times that it was difficult to
say to whom it really belonged, the slice of corn

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bread lying unnoticed on the floor where it had flown
in the mélée.

“Naughty children!” cried their mother, bestowing
liberal boxes from her palm on the ears that came
handy, “to fight and quarrel so when we are all in
such trouble, and this poor man may be dying before
us.” She picked up the slice, and laid it on the table,
and went to the buttery to fetch another.

“This isn’t good enough for company,” said Susan,
calmly eating it with a gusto.

“Ma, Susan’s et up the corn bread,” shouted Jonas,
who intended to take it himself.

“You bad girl,” said her mother, giving her a shake
as she passed her, “and you had two whole slices for
dinner. Here, Jonas, you may feed the poor old man.
How you children can be so naughty I don’t see, when
we are all in such trouble.”

“You speak of trouble so often, my good woman,”
quavered the old man, as he opened his mouth to
receive the liberal wedge of corn-bread that Jonas
applied to his lips. ‘Not such big pieces, please,
and don’t feed me fast. I’m an old man, and I can’t
eat very fast.”

“You've got all your teeth,” said Jonas, investigat-
ing the interior that received the corn-bread supply.

The stranger closed his mouth quickly; and the

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258 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

corn crumbs must have gone down the wrong way,
for he coughed and spluttered, until Jonas at last put
down the plate in despair at ever being able to furnish
another supply.

“T don’t want to feed him, mother,” he announced
in a loud whisper to the dame; “he’s awful slow and
queer.”

“ He’s very old,” whispered loudly back his mother.
“We must pity the infirmities of the aged, my son.
See, he’s nodding; he’ll go off to sleep most likely.
You children can run out to play.”

Jonas and the others, having gotten all the fun out
of the episode likely to come, scampered off, while
the aged stranger dozed and nodded. Suddenly he
gave a long sigh. “I must have lost myself,” he
said, opening his eyes. “Oh, well-a-day! my poor
limbs were all tired out. You spoke of trouble, my
good woman,—he roused himself as by an effort to
be conversational — “and have you seen trouble?
You seem comfortable,” glancing around the cottage
walls.

“Where have you been not to know the trouble and
sore distress of our Colonies?” cried the dame wrath-
fully. “Have you been asleep all these past years
not to have discovered it. The idea of coming to
Concord Town and asking me this question!” she

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added in a dudgeon. “Well, since you don’t seem to
know, I will tell you that wicked King George has
left no stone unturned by which he might oppress us.
He and his wickeder Parliament are determined to
crush us— but they can’t do it.

The old man huddled down in his chair deprecat-
ingly. “You surely do not mean to oppose the
king?” he quavered in dismay.

“Oppose? Ay, we do. We will fight him to the
death. There isn’t a man in Concord Town who
won’t do it.”

“What, fight your king?” cried the old man in
horror, and spreading his hands, quivering like aspen
leaves.

“ Our king,” exploded Dame Woodward; “we know
no king but God. The king you call ours is a despot,
and has treated us like slaves. We have obeyed him,
been loyal to him, and loved him—now don’t talk,
you’re too old, —and still he crushes us to the earth.
Nothing now remains for us but slavery. Fight?
You shall see how we will fight when the time comes.
Bless God, it’s coming soon, we pray.”

“You wouldn’t have your husband go to battle,
would you?” queried the old man in a thin tone of
amazement.

“T wouldn’t have him zo¢ go,” shrilled the dame.

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“And if the men can’t whip the British enslavers,
we women and girls will all turn out. Where have
you been not to know this without asking, pray tell?”
It was her turn to look amazed.

“T’m very old and poor and tired,” said the
stranger feebly. “I pray you to forgive me if I
make mistakes;” and then he went off into another
fit of mumbling. To restore him, Dame Woodward
began to talk, thinking to make him forget his blun-
der. “No matter how sick and poor and troubled we
be, we’re all for fighting. Now you ought to hear
Debby Parlin talk.”

The old man went on mumbling, as if he heard
not. But presently he begged humbly to be for-
given again. “You were speaking of one of your
relatives?’’ he asked.

“She’s no kin to me, but I wish she was. Don’t
you know Debby Parlin? Why, everybody knows
her. She lives down this Old Bay Road in a little
cottage against the Ridge.”

“You forget I do not live in this village,” said the
old man.

“Seem’s if everybody ought to know Debby Par-
lin,” replied Mrs. Woodward. ‘Well, her father’s
gone off, no livin’ mortal knows where. The trouble
we’ve all been in, has prob’ly flew to his head. An’

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Mis’ Parlin took a dretful spell by reason of him
away; an’ there’s that Deb’rah with her sick ma, for
she’s terribly changed, Mis’ Parlin is, an’ them three
children, and she’s as fierce for the war to begin as
any of us. Land! I wouldn’t want to fight that girl
if I was a British soldier.”

“You interest me very much,” said the stranger,
when the busy tongue came to a pause. “And you
make me forget my own troubles to hear you, my
good woman.”

“Well, it’s a sight to make a body cry, to see that
girl; why, she goes out spinning, or weaving, or doing
anything she can turn her hand to, and all the towns-
folk have her come an’ help ’em. Everybody loves
Debby. Oh, dear, dear!—an’ we can’t help her
much, cause we’re all as poor as Job’s turkeys, an’
got our own noses to the grindstone. You ain’t
goin’?”?

”

“T must get on a piece now,” said the old man,
getting out of his chair, and planting his staff on
the floor with a thump. “Thank you kindly, my
good woman, I won’t forget you ever.”

“You’re welcome,’’ said Dame Woodward; “let me
help you,” essaying to ease his tottering footsteps to
the door. ‘I’m sure I wish I had better to give you,

but it’s all we’ve got ourselves. At any rate, it’s

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262 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

honest food, and it don’t belong to slaves, for we’re
bound to be free. Don’t you fail to remember that.
An’ I’m glad I seen you, and may the Lord help you
on your way.” She shouted all this after him as he
tremblingly went down the road toward the centre of
Concord Town.

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XVIII.

“CONCORD WILL NEVER BE CONQUERED.”

OVERNOR and Commander-in-Chief Gage sat by
his fireside, in the Province House, —for the
day, though in early autumn, was cool, — lost ina train
of perplexed and angry musing. He had that after-
noon ridden out to view the blockhouses and repairs
on the fortifications at Boston Neck, which, to further
subdue the rebellious spirit of the colonists, he had
gotten well under way. Though none of the laborers
versed in such matters in the town would assist him,
he had managed to erect some sort of makeshift
for fortifying purposes. He intended to pursue the
work rapidly, at the same time to push forward every
other scheme to break the spirit of the rebels, who
were now becoming openly determined to stand by
their rights, and to remain “the conservators of ex-
isting institutions, they call themselves,” he said
sneeringly to himself; “but rebels they are, and by
King George and the British Parliament and the
British army, as rebels I will subdue them.”

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Thwarted in all he had set out to do in the way
of subjugating these troublesome colonists, Thomas
Gage, received by the people of Boston in their great
relief at the withdrawal of the detested Hutchinson,
at first with a popular show of welcome, had failed,
like the other royal governors, to grasp the situation.
Here he sat in the handsome home, set apart by the
Colonial Legislature of 1716 for him and his prede-
cessors, looking back on a constantly increasing com-
plication of the difficulty he had hoped to straighten
out between the king and his subjects.

In his rage at the obstinacy and foolhardiness of
these rebels, he could not but acknowledge, had he
been truthful, that he lost his head when he became
malignant enough to send forth his proclamation
against those who were determined not to buy British
goods. All his efforts to fasten the charges of treason
and rebellion upon the colonist leaders, in their in-
dependent interpretation of their chartered rights,
had failed utterly, leaving him in a most mortifying
position, constantly forced to some new scheme by
which he fondly hoped to be successful.

But the Regulation Act, immediately put into opera-
tion by him when received from the English Par-
liament, not only made matters worse, but precipitated
the crisis. The colonists must now either be slaves,

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or independent men, free from the yoke of king or
Parliament. There could be no middle situation, and he,
sitting there, governor and commander-in-chief of the
British army, knew it, as did all the world looking on.

It was in the midst of these distressing and humil-
iating thoughts, that a tall and slender man, in the
garb of a British officer, approached the mansion, and
ascended the high flight of stone steps. He was
ushered through a “ magnificent doorway which might
have rivalled those of the palaces of Europe.” Here
he left his colored servant in the outer hall, with a
careless glance of his dark eye, and a manner indica-
tive of no special command ; yet Pompey ducked obse-
quiously, and shuffled his feet back instantly, as if
anxious to get well out of range of anything that
might fly in their direction.

“Ha, Thornton, is that you?” said Governor Gage,
as the young man entered. “Close the door, and
come here. Stay, ring for wine to be brought.”

“T want none, thank you,” said Thornton hastily,
“and would to business as soon as possible.”

“Wine you must have,” replied the governor. Even
a little thing like that irritated him, who seemed not
able to impose obedience. “And if you cannot touch
that bell yonder, why, I can do it for you.”

“ Pardon me,” said the young officer, the color ris-

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266 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

ing to his cheek, “in that case I find that I do need
some wine, and permit me to ring for you.”

When the wine was brought by the black servant,
and the decanters and their glasses were set forth
on the shining oaken table, Thornton paused, between
his slow sips, to wait the pleasure of the governor.
But no summons to speak coming from the governor’s
lips, he at last set down his glass and said, “If you
will permit me, Governor Gage, I will show you why
I come to you this afternoon. Really it seems to me
there is cause for grave consideration if not for serious
alarm, in the various matters I shall lay before you.”

“Matters that I doubt not will be trifling, as are
all the affairs in which these rebels are engaged,”
said Governor Gage, intending to be dignified and
cool, but missing his object.

“Perhaps so,” assented Thornton, who had regained
his usual color, and taking another sip of wine with
an indifferent air, as if determined now to await the
governor’s request before revealing his errand.

“JT shall not be disturbed, Thornton, I tell you in
advance, at whatever you bring me. Remember, I
know these rascally poltroons well, and can be sur-
prised by nothing. What are their leaders, but men
of low birth and fortunes like this desperate Sam
Adams, or, on the other hand, weak fools who aspire

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to aristocracy, like this Hancock, who is really led
about by this same Adams? Bah!” He struck the
table with his palm till the glasses rang, poured out
a stiff glass of grog, and tossed it off. “Out with
your tale,” he said briefly, and composed himself as
well as he could to listen.

“I shall sadly vex you, Governor Gage, I doubt not,”
said Thornton respectfully, yet not without a shade
of contempt in his tone, “ at what I am about to say.”

“ Nonsense !” ejaculated the governor. ‘“ You can-
not vex me. Have I not known you well, and from
what you come? You are an English gentleman ;
and, mark you, Thornton, there is no finer work of
God under the sun than one such.” The young man
bowed in gratified acknowledgment at this tribute.

“You are of kin to Sir Francis Bernard, and
have lived in the midst of all his traditions of family
and government, to say nothing of being taught like
him at the University of Oxford, where, if anywhere,
thank God for it, men are made to believe in the
divine right of kings; and your word has, I must
confess, as I have ever shown to you, great weight
with me,” the governor proceeded, with a view to the
earliest propitiation of the young man before him.

“But I warn you, nevertheless, that I am about
to utter what may be instrumental in breaking up

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your regard for me, notwithstanding this regard is
based upon my being kinsman to your friend Sir
Francis.”’

“Not wholly, Thornton,” interposed the governor
hastily. ‘You are a young man after my own heart
and mind, on your individual merits. It is for your-
self that 1 have regard; your family traditions and
early associations do but enrich you.”

Thornton moved his chair a trifle impatiently.
“Have I your permission to proceed to the business
in hand?”

“Yes; proceed at once,” said the governor, com-
pressing his lips and folding his hands.

“In the first place, I have a confession to make
to you, sir,” said Thornton respectfully yet firmly.
“Where I once thought that these Colonists, call them
rebels if you will’ —

“They are rebels,” interrupted the governor harshly,
and bringing down his folded hand again in a way
to make the glasses ring; “rebels of the deepest dye;
mark you that. Proceed.”

“Where I once thought that they were hopelessly
contending for a principle they would never bring to
the point of settlement by the sword, I now as con-
scientiously believe that they will fight to the death
to maintain that principle.”

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“CONCORD WILL NEVER BE CONQUERED.” 269

“You lie!” exclaimed the governor, startled out of
his composure, and leaping from his chair.

“No man, be he governor or king, dares tell me
that,” said Thornton, getting deliberately out from his
chair and facing him.

“You are right, my boy,” the governor put out a
quick hand, and laid it on the young man’s shoulder;
“T was hasty and choleric—forgive me. By my
sword, I have been more tried than even you imagine.
Here’s my hand, I know you are a man of honor and
truth. Forgive and forget, Thornton.”

The young officer silently took the proffered hand,
and reseated himself, as the governor did the same.

“Tam at a loss how to proceed, sir,” he said after
a moment, when his host was pouring out another
glass of wine, and drinking it to allay his perturbation ;
“T am fearful I may offend again.”

“Go on, I promise not to take umbrage again, at
least till you are through,” said Governor Gage with
a short laugh. Yet he clinched his hands tightly to-
gether to hold himself in check.

“T repeat it, sir, these Colonists” (it was noticeable
that all through the conversation that ensued, Thornton
did not once allude to them as rebels, and Governor
Gage winced many a time at the omission) “ will fight
when the time comes, I believe —and to a man.”

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“Why do you thus believe? and from what do you
draw your conclusions?” demanded the governor.

“From my own personal observations, sir,” said
Thornton. “I have been now, you know, many
months among them, in every conceivable disguise, —
peddler, aged man, — in any and every way in which
I could be admitted to their confidence. It is not
necessary to enumerate them. You know how I have
employed every moment I could be spared from my
regiment, and I will conscientiously say I have been
thorough in my work.”

“This I believe, knowing you,” the governor opened
his tightly compressed lips to say.

“T have visited many towns and Colonies, and have
acquired besides the actual knowledge needed for our
commanders in the way of ammunition, men, and so
forth, the additional information as to the temper and
spirit of the Colonists. Lately J have centred my
best work in Concord Town.”

“And what do you find there?” demanded the gov-
ernor eagerly, and unclasping his hands to nervously
play with his wine-glass. “I venture to say that here
at least you will accord me the justice of good intui-
tions, when I say that they will not fight when brought
to the pinch. Old Concord is too near to Boston to
dare the trial. She knows too much.”

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“CONCORD WILL NEVER BE CONQUERED.” 271

“On the contrary,” said Thornton in a low, strained
voice, “she knows so much, that she is willing to die,
but she will be free. Take my word for it, sir. Be
warned in time. Concord will never be conquered.”

There was an awful pause. Then came a crushing
sound as the wine-glass was hurled from the governor’s
fingers and dashed against the hearthstone.

“T will keep my word, young man,” he said, his
face almost purple in his attempts to restrain himself.
“T am a man of honor, and never will I forget that I
have promised to be silent and upbraid you not, but
to let you finish in peace. Have you more to say?”

“Yes.” The young officer nodded, and communed
silently how easiest to bring all the points to the best
and quickest consideration of his hearer.

“You have made, I hope, some good Loyalists? ”
queried the governor sharply, with a keen glance, “in
all these journeyings.”’

“Ves,” said Thornton. A pained expression swept
over his face, but it was gone in an instant, and he
bore his usual countenance. “I have, sir. But
these are all overborne by the determined spirit of
their opposers. They amount to nothing as far as
stemming the current of public opinion. It is all
one way. Believe me, sir, I would I had a pleasant
tale to tell.”

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“Now, by King George,” cried the governor, on
his feet, and clinching both hands before him, “they
shall taste the sword they are so anxious to run
against. Poor wretches! will nothing bring them to
reason? Are they so steeped in their folly and con-
ceit that they can see aught but ruin ahead of them?
It is time to loose the dogs of war on them, for the
longer delayed, but intrenches them in their mad
delusions. Go on, for I see that you have more on
your mind,” he commanded abruptly.

“‘They have begun to raise what they call com-
panies of minute-men among the various towns,”
said Thornton.

‘‘Ha, ha! and what are those, pray tell? Men
who will run the minute the British army stands
before them, I make no doubt,” sneered Governor
Gage.

“They are men who will be ready to take up arms

’ said Thornton.

the minute the call comes for them,’
“Bosh!” It was impossible to throw more con-
tempt into a single word than that now invested
with the governor’s derision.
The young man’s face settled into a deeper grav-
ity. “I wish you could see it all as I, who have
been amongst them, see it, sir,’’ he said at length.

‘They are men, I am convinced, who do not rebel

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from fancied wrongs, nor from any lack of loyalty
to our king, but from a deep-seated conviction of
their rights invaded, and their charters infringed.”

‘‘Hold!” cried the governor in a loud tone;
“why, you are a rebel yourself,’ he was about to
add, but recollected his promise in time.

Thornton coolly finished the words for him. ‘‘ You
were going to say that I was as bad a rebel as any
of these—but you had not heard me through. I
was telling you the state of affairs seen through
their eyes, in order that you may realize that it is
a matter of conscience with them, and that as such
we must recognize the fact that it will be well-nigh
impossible to conquer them by mere force.”

“Nevertheless it shall be tried,” said the gov-
ernor under his breath.

“As for me,” Thornton drew himself up to his
full height, “I am, as you say, an English gentle-
man, born and bred in the belief of the divine
right of kings. This is enough.”

“Quite,” assented Governor Gage dryly.

“Would it not be possible,” the young British
officer leaned forward and searched the face before
him, “to use other measures to induce them to reason?
Surely, if you could but see them for yourself, you
would recognize the fact that they are easily led.

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It is by no means too late to try conciliation. There
are many honorable ways of bringing this about, and
retaining our hold upon the Colonies, and” —

But he got no farther. ‘‘ Young man,” thundered
the governor, “you are now transcending your prov-
ince. Verily, this is an unusual thing from one so
young as you, to be thus in conference with the
chief executive, and you must not overstep the priv-
ilege.”’

“JT was sought,” said Thornton with hauteur.
“Otherwise, you are quite aware, sir, that I should
never have intruded myself to your notice or your
presence;” and again the expression of contempt
overspread his face.

‘‘Quite true. Being what you are, I have gladly
intrusted to you this important work, and summoned
you to confidential conferences. But no one is
allowed to overstep the bound, nor to dictate to me,
the chief executive, the best way to deal with stiff-
necked and rebellious people.’’

“‘T shall not be likely to err in this direction
again,” said Thornton, keeping his anger down; “I
have eased my mind, and spoken freely in regard
to this unhappy estrangement between the mother-
country and her American Colonies. I have given

you what information I was sent to obtain. Now

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“CONCORD WILL NEVER BE CONQUERED.” 275

I will, with your permission, retire.’ He rose and
stood before the governor.

“You have done well in your expeditions, I doubt
not,’ replied Governor Gage, endeavoring to re-
cover his usual manner, and partially succeeding;
“T shall doubtless send you again on similar ones.
Meantime gather all the news you can, from what-
ever source, and bring me; and carry away with
you, Thornton, from this interview, only my un-
bounded respect and affection. Your judgment only
is at fault.”

The young officer bowed himself out, and motion-
ing to his colored servant, rolling his eyes in stiff
dignity on the carved oaken chair, to follow him,
he stalked down the street.

“Golly, massa,” said Pompey, shambling after, ‘I
hain’t gotter tell tings you brung me up to the big
house fer, —about-Capen James and the stuff he’s
keerin’ fer, and all the rest? Hee-hee, dis nigger’s
glad!”

“No, you villain!” The young lieutenant turned
suddenly and let his boot fly. Over rolled the
darkey, clapping his hand to his shin. He had met
his Waterloo again.

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276 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

XIX.

USHERING IN THE YEAR OF LIBERTY.

IDWINTER was fairly begun, ushering in the
year of liberty. It was of January, 1775.
Around the old church of Concord Town there
was a great stir. From the groups of men, old and
young, gathered out of the whole countryside, it was
easy to discover by the fragments of conversation, that
an event of unusual importance was about to happen.
There were exhibitions here and there of powder-
horns handed about from one to the other. Now and
then an old musket appeared that seemed to have done
duty in the Indian raids, or in shooting bears on
some lonely farm; and great was the envy and pride
on the countenances, as these articles were displayed
by their owners and passed along. Those who were
less fortunate, slapped their breeches pockets, and
guessed they could raise enough to buy their accoutre-
ments. Some few hung their heads, until assured that
the town had promised to buy the guns for men un-
able to furnish them; then their spirits revived.

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USHERING IN THE YEAR OF LIBERTY. 277

“Hush, here he comes.” The young pastor, fair
and slender, came down the road, his Bible under his
arm. His step was springing, and there was that in
his air that gave courage to the waiting men and the
outer fringe of people, like the blast of a trumpet;
and they all filed in and took their seats in the big
square pews, while he mounted the pulpit steps, con-
vinced that the enlistment to follow the meeting, was
to be a whole-souled movement.

Simon and Jabez crowded up into a front seat.
There was old Daddy Fairbanks, well along in his
eighties, hurrying after. ‘“ Move up, boys,” he quav-
ered, with kindling eye, and he dropped into a seat
beside them; “I want to be a-settin’ up high, so ’s to
be one o’ the fust to get my name writ down.”

Here was Abner Butterfield, whose right hand ner-
vously fingered the grand’ther’s musket he bore.
This had been at Louisburg, and Abner meant it to
tell more tales before he got through with it. And
here, crowding his toes, and shoving his long figure,
was the ubiquitous boy of Concord Town, standing
up big and straight, ready to demand the privilege of
“jining the comp’ny.” They were all there, old and
young, big and little, from this and the neighbor-
ing towns, drawn to the great meeting when their
revered pastor was to preach, to be followed by the

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raising of the minute company to defend their rights
as freemen.

The long sermon has begun, from Psalm Ixiii. 2.
“To see thy power and thy glory, so as I have seen
thee in the sanctuary.’”’ Not a word is missed. No
one thinks of fatigue. Solemnly every word is taken
in by the absorbed, attentive listeners. Brought up
as they were to attend divine service on each Lord’s
Day, and feeling it a sin and a shame to begin any-
thing without the blessing of the God of their fath-
ers, these men and boys look upon this effort of the
preacher as the only proper step to their induction
into the ranks of the fighters. And they drink
eagerly in every word, only drawing a long breath of
delight when the regulations are to be signed, and
the real enlisting is begun.

Sixty came forward, many of them being either too
old or too young to go into the militia, and signed
their names to the following regulations, or agree-

ments :—

‘<1, We, whose names are hereunto subscribed, will, to
the utmost of our power, defend his Majesty, King George
the Third, his person, crown, and dignity.

‘2, We will at the same time, to the utmost of our
power and abilities, defend all and every of our charter
rights, liberties, and privileges; and will hold ourselves in

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USHERING IN THE YEAR OF LIBERTY, 279

readiness at a minute’s warning with arms and ammunition
thus to do.

“¢3, We will at all times and in all places obey our offi-.
cers chosen by us, and our superior officers, in ordering
and disciplining us, when and where said officers shall
think proper.”

Debby Parlin sat with her mates, and between Milis-
cent Barrett and Perces Wood. Her tired hands, freed
from toil for this brief respite, for everybody went
to the meeting, and no one thought of working any
more than on a Sabbath day, rested in the palms of the
girls beside her. A gentle pressure, every now and
then, from Miliscent’s warm, sympathetic fingers, and
a glance from the soft, dark eye, told how keenly the
heart of her friend was bearing the sorrow fallen upon
the young life. Perces held the poor, toil-marked
fingers; but she sat bolt upright, as was her wont,
and stared religiously up into the minister’s face.
Yet Debby knew the current under the still surface,
and was content.

The enlisting went on rapidly, with a promise of
more names to follow, which was afterward fulfilled,
one hundred joining the ranks, so that the number
was divided, making two companies, one of which
was called Zhe Alarm Company.

When it was all over, and the newly enlisted men

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and boys had marched off to consider ways and
means for active work, Debby turned her pale face
to Miliscent, and drew a long breath. “I’ve got
something to tell you; and I want you and Perces to
come out into the burying-ground, but not the other
girls.”

“Come on, Debby,” called one of these last, as
they filed out of church with that feeling that, after
such an unusual event, the hours to follow till sun-
down should be free from work. “You can’t settle
down to anything. Nobody’s going home yet.”

“You forget I have mother; she’ll be lonely,” said
Debby, in the quiet way that was hers now. “ But I
must speak to Miliscent and Perces first; don’t be
angry with me, girls,” she added pleadingly.

“We ain’t mad,” said Louisa quickly, as she looked
into the pale face. “Come away,” and she led off
the others, who were longing to add themselves to
Debby’s company.

“Now, girls,’ up in the old hill burying-ground,
Debby stopped abruptly and faced them, “I’ve got
something on my mind, and you must help me.”

Neither girl spoke. Debby was always sure to dis-
close everything in regular fashion, and much better
if not interrupted. But she hesitated so long now
that Miliscent said, “Well?”

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USHERING IN THE VEAR OF LIBERTY. 281

“T am going to search for my father,” said Debby
abruptly, pale and red by turns.

“Deborah Parlin!” exclaimed both girls at once.
Such a thing had never been heard of in those days
as a girl’s going away from home, alone, and into un-
known spots; and they stared at her, after that first
explosion of surprise, in dumb amazement.

“T surely am,”

declared Debby in clear-cut, low
tones. “You know, girls, it is useless to say any-
thing, for my mind is made up.”

“But you cannot go,” cried Miliscent, off her guard,
and not realizing that this was not the way to deal
with one of Debby’s make-up. “I never Zeard of such
a thing; nobody has. Why, what could you do, De-
borah Parlin?” She folded her hands imploringly.

“T can search for my father,” repeated Debby in
lower tones, but ringing with determination. “Girls,
do you either of you know what it is to be without
a father?” Her head sunk to her bosom, but her
eyes were dry.

“You poor thing!” Miliscent threw both arms
around her, and strained her to her breast. “Oh!
you know how we love you, how everybody loves you,
Debby. And we just long to do something for you.
But to go off for your father — you don’t in the least
know where he is. What will become of you? And

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282 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

then we need you to make the cartridges. Oh, dear,
dear! give it up, dear Debby, do.” She caressed and
mourned over her and pleaded, Perces standing stiff
and tall and silent.

“Perces, do say something to get this idea out of
her head, and not stand like a stick or a stone,” at
last cried Miliscent impatiently.

“J think Debby is right to go,” said Perces de-
cidedly, and not moving a muscle.

“Perces Wood! I wonder what your father would
say if he knew you encouraged Debby to leave her
home and go on such a dreadfully risky piece of
work,” cried Miliscent angrily.

“Y’m not encouraging her,” declared Perces stol-
idly. “You wanted me to speak, and I'm going to
tell the truth. I think she ought to go.”

“ Perces — Perces!” cried Debby convulsively,
amid a rain of tears. Seeing this, Miliscent in a dum-
founded way began to pet her. But she clung to
the big, stolid girl.

“Vou will some time be glad that I advised you,”
said Miliscent, standing off in a grand way, deter-
mined now to do the heroics. ‘ Well, good-by, Deb-
orah Parlin,” and she turned her back on the two,
“if you wish to desert your work on the cartridges
for a useless search.”

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USHERING IN THE YEAR OF LIBERTY. 283

“Miliscent!” Debby flung herself after her. “ You
don’t know how you are hurting me, when I think
I must give up my work on the cartridges. Stop, not
another word, I know God wants me to search for my
father. He will take care of me. O girls, girls!” —
she had dragged Miliscent back to Perces standing
still, as she spoke, and she now laid a hand on the
arm of each girl, —“I must find my father, or I shall
die.” Every bit of color had fled from her face; and
her hood, falling back, disclosed her thin cheeks with
the hollows under the blue eyes. “Think what it is
to see each day go by and get no tidings from him. I
must bring him back.”

“You seem to feel that he’s alive, Debby,” said
Miliscent, catching her breath at the misery of the
young face before her. “ He’s probably dead, dear,
long before this, or he would have come home. So
there is no use in your risking your life, as you surely
will, I feel, in going on such a wild errand.”

Debby turned and looked at her, but did not release
her hold on the arm. What would the girls do if they
knew that her father was a Tory! She almost felt like
a traitor, to be accepting their affection and confidence.

“If he were dead,” she said solemnly, “I would
not mourn, but take it as the will of God. I must
bring back my father.”

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“T see there is no use in talking,” said Miliscent
with a break in her voice, ‘and that you are going.
Forgive me for what I said.” The tears gushed from
her eyes, and she fell on Debby’s neck with many
sobs.

“You didn’t mean — you cannot know,” said Debby,
“unless you had it to bear yourself, what it is to live
through —O Miliscent! O Perces! if you will only
help me in this one thing.”

They hung on her words, one tearful and sympa-
thetic, the other stolid and with dry eyes.

“Just go as often as you can, without neglecting the
cartridges, to see mother” — Debby’s lips trembled —
“and the children. They’ve learned many nice ways
since Mrs. Butterfield took them for a visit; and they’re
handy about the house, so she won’t miss me much
about the work. But she’s lonely in her mind, and
you know she never goes out; and oh! I’m so worried
about her.” And the white face was overcast by a
cloud. Perces spoke up.

“Don’t you worry. I’m a-going down there to stay.
You know I’m so slow I’m no good on the cartridges.”

“ Perces /”” it was now Debby’s turn to be aston-
ished. As for Miliscent she sank down on one of
the graves, and clung to the tombstone in amaze-
ment.

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‘dVELSANOH GOOM WIVYHdA AHL

 

 

 

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USHERING IN THE YEAR OF LIBERTY. 285

“Mother doesn’t need me,” Perces was saying
sveadily. “She’s got Betsy Higgins there now ; she’s
had to give up her farm, you know, and father told her
to come to our house. And I’m really no good on
the cartridges; so I’ll just go and see after your ma,
Debby, and you can go off easy in your mind,” she
added, with the air of a woman of forty, who was
accustomed to settle big matters every day.

Miliscent peeped behind the tombstone and gazed
at her. Debby had seized her hands, “O you Perces,
you good Perces!” and was laughing and crying at
one and the same time.

“Perhaps your mother won’t let you go, Debby,”
said Miliscent, feeling as if the whole world were up-
side down, and she had no bearings at all.

“ She will; she knows it — of course I told her first,”
cried Debby breathlessly. ‘O you good Perces !”

“ Then I must give up, and let you go,” said Milis-
cent with a sigh, getting up and shaking the damp
mould from her blue stuff gown. “ And, Debby, since
you are really going, I promise to help you every
single bit I can while you are gone. I can’t go to
stay all the time at your house,” — with a pang at the
thought of Perces’s happiness, — for we’ve such loads
of children; and then grandfather and grandmother
expect me over there every day—and there are the

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286 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

cartridges. But every minute I can spare, I’ll be
down to see your mother. O Debby!”

She fell on her neck again, but this time without
tears; and at last, as the sun sank down behind the
hill, they parted, and went their several ways.

“ Mother,” said Perces Wood, going straight up to
the matron’s side when they were alone in the big
kitchen, “Debby Parlin is going away to find her
father, and I am going down to stay with her mother.
I knew you’d let me. And don’t let us tell any one.”

Mrs. Wood looked up at her daughter. “Well,
you can go,”’ she said slowly, after a while.

“T knew you’d let me,” said Perces in a matter-
of-fact way; “and so I told Debby this afternoon.”

‘But as for not telling any one, we shall inform
your father, of course,” said Mrs. Wood, feeling
for the moment younger than her daughter, and
not caring to show in the presence of so much com-
posure how startled she was at this news of Debby’s
plans. Evidently the times were days of develop-
ment for the girls, who, if they couldn’t fight, could
show their pluck in other ways. She went silently
about the old kitchen with many conflicting emo-
tions within her. And Perces, as if such things
were of daily settling, put up the supper dishes on
the dresser with her usual precision and slow care.

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USHERING IN THE YEAR OF LIBERTY. 287

The next morning she put on her hood and big
shawl and went out, hearing Betsy Higgins say,
“Ta, where’s she a-streakin’ it to now, I wonder,”
with the freedom of the New England homestead,
where all were on a footing of equality. But
Betsy got no reply, Perces felt quite sure, as no one
but herself knew her expedition, her mother allow-
ing it without asking why.

The girl kept on her slow and steady way, till
the two miles between the Wood mansion and her
destination were traversed. Then she turned in at
the Butterfield farmyard, and rapped at the big green
door.

‘My senses, it’s Perces Wood!” exclaimed Mrs.
Butterfield, as if announcing it to an imaginary
company. “Your pa out in the waggin, or your
ma most likely?” craning her neck.

“No,” said Perces; “I came on foot and alone.
I want to see Abner, Mrs. Butterfield.”

“La, well, you do?” said Abner’s mother, much
puzzled. Perces never was a girl to run after the
boys; but here she was now, sure enough. And
Mrs. Butterfield began to draw lively conclusions
of the motives that had induced rich Mr. Wood’s
daughter to travel those long two miles, and a com-
placent smile overspread her big features at the

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thought of so much appreciation of her son. “Though
I always knew he could pick and choose through the
hull town. But, la me! I wouldn’t have him really
marry any one but Debby, bless her heart! Ab-ver /”
she screamed at the foot of the stairs leading up to
the corn-chamber, while Perces waited on the door-
stone.

“You ain’t goin’ in in that rig,” she remonstrated,
as Abner came down the stairs in response to the
summons; “it’s the Wood girl, an’ she wants to see
you. Do go an’ slick up a bit — Ill keep her talkin’.”

But Abner pushed past her, and was already at the
door. “Did you want to see me?” There were dark
hollows under his heavy eyes. Mrs. Butterfield fol-
lowed heavily after.

“TI want to see Abner alone,” said Perces, quite com-
posed, and with no circumlocutory effort.

“This way, then.” Abner was about to fling wide
the keeping-room door; but remembering with a pang
the night that Debby had given therein her confidence
touching Tory Lee, he closed it hastily. “ You can
tell me out here,” he said; and they stepped beneath
the large oak just on the edge of the house-place, Mrs.
Butterfield, as on that other occasion, left in thwarted
curiosity — this time, however, with the satisfaction
born of the fact that she could command a good view

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from the kitchen window of all that went on under the
oak.

“Tt don’t look like love-making,” she soliloquized,
as she peered out —“ and of all beings, Perces Wood,
who’s as stiddy as a clock. But then you can’t ever
tell about these girls —an’ no wonder they are crazy
about my Abner; an’ these quiet ones are the most
dangerous, I reckon. Well, she sha’n’t get him away
from Debby. She’ll have me to tackle first.”

Outside, Perces was saying in a matter-of-fact way,
and looking straight in the young man’s face, “ Debby
Parlin is going to look for her father. I thought I’d
tell you, but no one else is to know. Good-day;”
and she trudged down the path, and out the gate-
way.

“Well, if ever I see anything more sing’lar in all
my born days; she hain’t had time to say a dozen
words skeercely, and gone, an’ he a-standin’ there as
if struck dumb.” Mrs. Butterfield hurried to the door.
“ Ab-ner/” she called. “ What did she want?”

Abner started, and passed his hand over his fore-
head. “Oh! you heard Perces say that she must tell
me alone, mother.”

Then Mrs. Butterfield’s thoughts deserted their first
charge and flew, as they ever must, to the impending
dangers. ‘Did Mr. Wood send her?” she demanded

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hoarsely. “It’s something about the Britishers com-
ing, I know.”

“Nothing of the sort,” denied Abner shortly, turn-
ing on his heel, and wishing the war only would com-
mence, to give his torturing thoughts something to
dwell on that could lead him into action.

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A SEARCH THROUGH BOSTON TOWN. 2091

XX.

A SEARCH THROUGH BOSTON TOWN.

LOW knock sounded on the green door of the

Parlin cottage that evening. Debby took up

the candle, and went out into the little entry. As she

lifted the latch a sudden gust of wind blew the door
wide, and extinguished the light..

“Don’t be scared,” said a voice.

“Oh! is that you, Jim?” said Debby.

“Yes; but don’t be scared. I say, Debby, I’ve
come to tell you something before I’m off. Can you
trust me to shut that door and step outside a minute? ”

Debby closed the door back of her, and followed
Jim to a little distance from the cottage, where he
paused. There was no moon; but the sky above was
studded with brilliants, and the air, despite the sea-
son, was soft and balmy.

“What is it?” asked Debby patiently. “If you have
anything to tell me, Jim, say it at once, or I shall go
back to the house.”

Jim seemed to find great difficulty in beginning.

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He cleared his throat several times, and at last blurted
out in sheer desperation. “I’m awfully sorry I treated
you so, Debby, but” —

“Tf that is all you have come to say, you might well
have remained at home,” said Debby in scornful dig-
nity, and moving off toward the cottage.

“Well, it ain’t,” cried Jim hastily; “but I wanted
to get that off my mind first. I’m powerful sorry,
Debby; but I had to, for fear you’d tell on us, and
spoil the job. Don’t you believe I’m sorry?”

“ Let that pass,” said Debby, arresting her footsteps
at the suggestion of some other piece of information
weighing on Jim’s mind. What if he should know
anything of her father? flashed through her mind, al-
ways on the alert for chance news of the absent one.

“JT was run into Ab Butterfield’s house the day they
seized me at the Common to tar and feather and
duck me,” said Jim suddenly in a burst. ‘He saved
me; blast him, I’d rather ’a’ been saved by any one
else than Ab. I’ve been hid away since; and, as it
ain’t healthy for me to be seen around these parts,
I’ve streaked it over here at night to see you, for I
don’t want you to think altogether bad of me, Debby.
I’m in Boston Town, where there’s lots o’ Tories to
keep me comp’ny. Now, before I go back, I’m goin’
to set your mind at rest somewhat about your father.

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Don’t you worry a mite about him; he’s prob’ly
joined the Reg’lars.”

A low cry broke from Debby’s lips. “O Jim!
anything but that!” moaned the girl, clasping her
hands, and gazing up to the myriad lights above, with
anguished eyes. “If you told me that he was dead,
and up in yonder sky, I would not mourn; but to take
up arms against his country, O my God! my God!”

Jim trembled like an aspen leaf to hear her; and he
managed to say, “Don’t mind it so, Debby, lots 0’
good men are Loyalists ;” drawing near as he did so,
with the vain hope of comfort.

It was at this instant that a tall, square-shouldered
figure stepped upon the soft greensward behind the
big elm just within the Parlin enclosure. Abner But-
terfield had mastered his fear that Debby would be
displeased at his intrusion upon the grief and shame
overwhelming her at her father’s treachery to his
country, and had followed the instincts of his heart
bounding toward her at Perces’s disclosure; and here
he was, to give her what comfort he could. When he
caught sight of Jim, standing with her in the even-
ing shadow, in an apparently confidential attitude of
complete understanding, he could not believe his eyes.
He had not seen Jim since he had slipped off one
night, weeks before, from the Butterfield homestead.

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But a second view, and Jim’s voice, now sympathetic
and confident, left him no room for hope. Stung to the
quick, he started back, and strode off into the night.

“Speak not to me of good men who are Tories,”
cried Debby in passionate accents. “There can be
no forgiveness for a traitor. O father, father!”

Jim twisted uneasily from one foot to another.
“ll tell you the man who put him up to it,” at last
he said, determined to make a clean breast of the
whole matter. “It was the same one who made me
see things as they be. He was a peddler, but an
awful smart fellow, and he opened my eyes.”

Debby’s white face was upturned to the glowing
heavens; her lips moved, but no words came.

“Well, some day maybe you'll see it, when the
tussle is over, and the British have whipped us out
o’ our boots, as they’re bound to do. Then your
father’s being a Tory, is what’ll save you, Debby
Parlin.”

She did not even hear him, but in agonized accents
was begging piteously for some clew to her father’s
whereabouts.

“T d’no any more’n the dead where he is,” declared
Jim desperately ; “on my soul I wish I could help you.
*Twas a good many weeks back I run across him
suddint like. An’ he told me he was goin’ to join the

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Reg’lars. I hain’t seen him since. It'll be your sal-
vation if he does; an’ you ought to know it, Debby
Parlin.”

With a low cry of despair, she went swiftly into the
cottage, and up to her little room under the eaves,
where she flung herself on her knees with only God
to comfort.

It was morning in Boston Town. The unrest per-
vading all classes was visible to any chance observer,
who met every few steps of his way the British soldier,
insolent with gun and bayonet; the youth of the town
wild with repressed indignation; the grave and deter-
mined Patriot; and the ardent Loyalist, bitter and
outspoken. The Common, white with the encamped
army of the invaders, was alert with military activity,
having within its borders the Fourth, Fifth, Thirty-
eighth and Forty-fifth Regiments, together with
twenty-two pieces of cannon, and three companies of
artillery.

“And over all the open green,
Where grazed of late the harmless kine,

The cannon’s deepening ruts are seen,
The war-horse stamps, the bayonets shine.”

Within the limits of the town, the Tory party, en-
deavoring to secure followers, and driven, many of
them, from their homes in the countryside by indig:

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nant fellow-citizens, was rapidly taking refuge, and
swelling the tide of bitterness against the Patriots,
toward whom there was now nothing but open abuse
by the tongue of the most virulent sort.

While the British coffee-house on King Street,
opposite the Custom House, was the resort of the
high Tories and the British officers, the Green Dragon
Tavern on Green Dragon Lane was the meeting-
ground of the Patriots. It was “in front a two-story
building with a pitch roof, but of greater elevation in
the rear; and over the entrance an iron rod projected,
and upon it was crouched the copper dragon which
was the tavern’s sign.” Here, among others, assem-
bled Paul Revere, with a band of thirty men, mostly
mechanics, who volunteered to keep watch of the
movements of the British, and did so during 1774-
1775:

As Governor Gage felt his power over the people
daily lessening to the precincts of Boston and Salem,
then the seat of government, he confined himself in
his futile rage and chagrin to the completion of the
fortifications on the Neck, and raising the general
standard of the British army in quality and accoutre-
ments, and thus getting ready for decisive action in
the matter of subjugating the rebels. Accordingly
the British vessels continued to discharge their relays

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in the harbor of “the flower of the English army,” till
the old staid town began to literally bloom into color,
as the men, gay with their scarlet and gold and mili-
tary trappings, marched hither and yon along her
streets. The barracks were full to overflowing, and
all things seemed ripe for the downfall of the Patriots.
But despite the fact that there was within her borders
all royal authority, the king’s governor, the king’s
judges, and the king’s army, — all of these combined
had not been able to make the courts to sit, nor the
jurors to serve, while the people steadfastly refused to
obey. The Massachusetts Assembly, being repulsed
by Governor Gage at the Salem court-house, had been
equal to the emergency; and going off to Concord
Town, had continued the Provincial Congress, elect-
ing their own officers, and showing themselves capable
of taking care of the interests committed to them, and
in full accord with the Continental Congress at Phila-
delphia. The minute-men were forming in the various
country towns, while the ranks of the militia were rap-
idly filling up. “ Forward for liberty!” and “Down
with oppression!” were the watchwords. “We will
stand by our chartered rights!” was the ultimatum
of the people; and when the people make a stand, it
is useless for a king to speak.

A young girl in a blue stuff gown, and hood

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298 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

drawn well over her face, and a packet on her arm,
was wending her way along the roadway, entering
the town on this spring morning. It was easy to
see that she was from the country, not so much by
the free spring of her foot that bespoke the field
and the meadow, as by a certain innocent grace of
each movement, and the modesty of her bearing.
She addressed no one to inquire the way; yet a keen
observer could have told that this was first time
she had trod this thoroughfare, and that hitherto
she had been a stranger to the town. Yet there
was no uncertainty in her demeanor, nor aught of
perplexity, as she went calmly on her way, appar-
ently not noticing many curious glances cast upon
her from the passers-by. At last, when well within
the borders of the town, she halted, and drew from
her packet a small paper.

“T would better ask the way to Dame Barker’s
house,” she said to herself, “than to waste time in
trying to find it. I will inquire of the next person
I meet, if the face warrants it.”

But the next persons were two British soldiers, who
stared at her in a way to bring the pink color to her
cheeks as she haughtily passed by; they endeavored
to look within her hood, and playfully challenged her
with their muskets, calling her “‘ Pretty Rebel” mean-

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while. But Debby bit her lips together, and decided
to go on her way by the guidance of her own mind
and intuitions. With a bosom swelling with the in-
dignities pressed upon her, and upon all other Patri-
ots, she passed on, careless of the direction her steps
were leading her, until she looked up. She was on
King Street, and beneath the windows of the British
coffee-house.

A party of young British officers was descending
the steps. Back of them stood some florid-faced,
older men, who had evidently been but shortly de-
tached from the card-table and the punch-bowl.
She paused involuntarily, her feet refusing to carry
her farther, as her eye rested on the foremost fig-
ure of a tall and slender young man. In this instant
of time his piercing dark eyes had met hers; and
despite his gorgeous uniform, gay in scarlet and gold,
that set off his dark, refined face and tall, slender
figure, she knew she was looking at ‘‘the peddler.”
In the next, he was talking and laughing with the
bevy, his back to her, while he pointed up King
Street, directing the attention of his comrades thither
as the direction they should take.

‘Stay a bit,’’ called one of the florid-faced Eng-
lishmen on the steps; “there’s a deucedly pretty
little rebel,” pointing to the young girl. ‘Come

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300 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

back, Thornton and Herford, and you other fellows,”
as they were moving off. “Don’t turn your backs
on the little beauty.”

Thus summoned, the men glanced back, particu-
larly one of their number, who had seen for himself.
‘*Come on,” said Thornton sternly, “ Harlow is deep
in his cups. Don’t sink so low as to listen to him.’’

a3

“Verily, she is a beauty,” said the one who had
noticed her first, and taking a few steps toward
Debby’s side, who still stood as if paralyzed, with
heart beating fast in her bosom. Oh! if the men
would only go away, and let her ask this young
British soldier who had it in his power to tell her
where her father was!

“Fair maiden, where do you come from?” queried
the young man who had turned back, now putting
himself directly in Debby’s way; the older men on
the steps thrust their hands in their pockets and
smiled to see the encounter, some going down to the
pavement to get a nearer view of the pretty stranger.

Thornton wheeled suddenly. “This is dastardly!”
he exclaimed, without a glance at the girl. “Are
ye Englishmen?” he cried, his eyes blazing. ‘“ Well
would it be for our country if she could call you all
by any other name.”

Young Herford by his side sprang into the circle,

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“Shame on you for Englishmen!” he exclaimed, his
hot blood in his boyish cheeks; “let the maiden go,
and molest her not by idle talk.”

Debby had by this time regained her composure;
and she stood pale, but dignified as an angry goddess,
viewing them all with clear, undaunted eyes, till they
quailed, and with a foolish laugh backed off up the
steps, averring that Thornton with his deuced scruples
was carrying matters with too high a hand for their
liking.

‘‘Whoever you may be,” said Thornton to Debby,
looking full at her, but with a glance that betrayed
no knowledge of ever having seen her before, “I
would warn you that it is unsafe for a maiden who is
a stranger to go unattended upon the streets of Bos-
ton Town at this troubled time. I pray you, take my
advice, and return to your home.”

Debby turned a white face to him, and was on the
point of crying through ashen lips, “My father, can
you tell me aught of him?” when Thornton, touching
his cap, and bowing to her reverentially, drew off
Herford most abruptly, leaving her no other course
than to retrace her steps, which she did as in a dream,
when some one abruptly stopped her way. She looked
up, and saw Abner Butterfield.

“Deborah,” he said, speaking hurriedly, the color

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302 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

coming over his brown cheek, ‘you ought not to be
here alone. This is King Street, where daily and
nightly tumult is likely to occur if anywhere. Come,
let me take you to a quieter place, where I can help
you maybe,” he added awkwardly.

Debby lifted a calm face to his heated one, as if
with mind lost to her own need. ‘Do not be afraid
for me, Abner,” she said. “You know why I am here.
I have come to look for father. Oh! I may meet him
now at any moment.”

‘‘Where are you going to stay?” asked Abner, es-
saying to lead her off.

She fell into step by his side, like a docile child,
and went on steadily. ‘At Dame Hannah Barker’s.
She is a kinswoman of my mother’s, you know. She
wrote me in response to my letter, and said I could
stay there while I searched for father. Is it far from
here, think you, Abner?” She took out the paper
again from her packet, and gave it to him, bending
anxiously over it as he perused it.

“ At the farther end of the town, I think,” said
Abner, wrinkling his brows in perplexity. “Come
this way, Debby; I will find it for you.”

In all his distress over her, his mad rage at Jim,
and the fate that had enveloped her with the friend-
liness and sympathy of the miserable wretch, it was

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heaven to be walking by her side, to note the sad
droop of her sweet face and the touching confidence
with which she now resigned all care of the expedi-
tion to him. They went on silently for some mo-
ments, Debby scanning eagerly the face of every
passer-by, particularly if King George’s uniform cov-
ered the pedestrian. Suddenly they heard a great
commotion and the rattle of muskets, with loud shouts
and jeers. Abner instantly sought to turn Debby
down a quieter thoroughfare; but there was no oppor-
tunity, before a negro man, running at full speed,
chased by taunting British soldiers handling their
bayonets suggestively, dashed into them, nearly knock-
ing them prostrate. “Save me—O God-a-mighty
—save me!” and falling on his knees he clasped
Abner around his long legs. It was Pompey.

Abner swung his legs free, and put himself between
the grovelling negro and the soldiers, who now see-
ing double game in a couple of rustics added to the
fun of frightening the darkey, manipulated their bayo-
nets in a way calculated to bring out much amuse-
ment.

“Put up your weapons,” said Abner quietly, as
Debby lifted her face and looked at them calmly,
while one hand soothed Pompey’s woolly head, that
in the last weeks had taken on a frostier hue.

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“We are peaceable citizens, and law-abiding, and
as such shall have protection of this town.”

“This nigger insulted us,” shouted one of the sol-
diers, pricking the negro’s leg with his bayonet, which
made him roll over on the ground in an agony of
apprehension, so that it exposed his eyes, and he saw
Abner’s face for the first time. Debby he had not
noticed, save that she was a woman, and not likely to
be of much help in saving him. The astonishment
and delight that seized him was now so great that
it overpressed the pain and fright. ‘“O Massa Ab-
ner!” he exclaimed, in a delirium of joy, and jumped
up and precipitated himself into Butterfield’s arms;
“you done sabe ole Pomp!”

“Is he your nigger?” enquired the man who had
played his bayonet on Pompey, and falling back a
little.

“He is my servant,”’ said Abner sternly, “and who-
ever touches him will have me to answer to.”

“ He’s a lying, thieving nigger,” spoke up a soldier,
who found little pleasure in having the game dis-
turbed, and was casting about for some excuse for
their persecution.

“You lie yousef,” shouted Pompey, raising his
head, quite re-enforced by Abner’s protection, since
in him he had recovered his long-mourned master.

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“Shut your black mouth!” threatened the Regular,
advancing on him, bayonet well poised.

“Kick his shin — that fetches a nigger,” advised
another.

“Oh, no—no—no!” roared Pompey, far gone in
his dreadful fright, and whirling around Abner, whom
he grasped with both hands, so that the two revolved
rapidly, until Butterfield thrust his newly recovered
servant determinedly back of him, and endeavored to
address the soldiery.

“Listen,” said Debby, laying her cool hand on the
frantic arm of the negro. “No one shall hurt you.
Don’t you know me, Pompey? I am Deborah Parlin.”

Pompey turned an instant, rolled his eyes till there
seemed nothing but the whites displayed, and gasped
without speech. Meantime the hubbub brought to
the spot another squad of redcoats, who had turned
at the noise on their way to their barracks.

““What’s the trouble?” cried their officer, levelling
his musket at the young countryman. “Sir, I think
you will have to come with me to the guard-room,”
without waiting for an answer, “for creating a dis-
turbance in the streets.”

“T think not, sir,” replied Debby in clear tones,
and regarding him fearlessly, “when you come to
hear the cause of this noise. It is” —

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“A mere fracas of words,” hastily set in the soldier
who had pricked Pompey with his bayonet. ‘Cor-
poral, nothing to speak of; these country people don’t
understand the ways of the town, and addressed us in
a manner unbecoming the British soldier to receive.
But let it pass,——it was but a trifle.”

“That is not the truth,” said Debby in a clear
voice, and not taking her blue eyes from the round
red face of the corporal; “we were quietly proceeding
on our way, when these soldiers,” pointing to them,
“who were ill-treating the servant of my friend, em-
broiled us in abuse and confusion.”

“Who is this nigger?” demanded the corporal
fiercely with an oath, for the first time perceiving the
grovelling Pompey.

“My servant, sir,” said Abner sturdily.

The corporal’s color ran high on his cheek. Dearly
would he have loved to punish these independent
rustics who dared to thus face him. But realizing
what he in his turn would be obliged to face when
the story should come out in the guard-room that
he had permitted any abuse of the property of Ameri-
can citizens,—as clearly from their attitude, it could
be proved that the soldiery had interfered with their
servant, —he hesitated in a surly fashion.

“T tell you, Corporal, it’s but a trifle, and they know

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no better,” exclaimed the British soldier who had been
chief spokesman.

“You keep your place, Jones,” angrily commanded
the corporal, “and be less lively with your tongue.
To your quarters, men;” and he flourished his musket
and swore roundly until the heavy tramp died off down
the street. “Now, you miserable Yankees, disperse
and go your way with your nigger; and hark ye! if
I catch you kicking up any more tumults, I’ll deal
with you as you deserve.”

“We shall not be ordered off from Boston streets,
as long as we are not disobeying the law, by you or
any other person,” declared Abner sturdily, his big
brown hands working hard.

The corporal’s face was livid with passion, and he
made as though he would run Abner through with his
bayonet; but thinking better of it, “We'll bear with
you now,” he cried, “because we’re sure to have you
all in our hands sooner or later, to do what we like
with,” — with a parting oath.

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XXI.

HOME TO CONCORD TOWN.

a HERE is no time to lose now, Debby,” said
Abner hurriedly; “some of these drunken fel-
lows may return; we best make haste to Mistress Bar-
ker’s. Get up, Pompey; you shall tell me later how
you came to run away, and to fall into such a plight.”
“Golly, massa, I tell you now,” cried Pompey, as
they hurried on; “’twas de debbil shore done took
me. An’ he got such a long leg, he have, an’ he let
it fly at my shin—oh, whee!” The negro stopped to
rub his leg now in exquisite distress at the remem-
brance. “Only get me safe home to yer ma, an’ I
axes nothing but to die.”

“Come along,” cried Abner, impatiently striding
on, “or we’ll leave you to be taken again, you black
nuisance.”

Thus warned, Pompey scuttled after the two; and
devious wanderings, not necessary to detail here,
at last brought the three to the Barker homestead.
It was a little many-gabled house, with its doors

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HOME TO CONCORD TOWN. 309

and garden palings painted green, and a wide space
before neighboring yards.

Here Debby was drawn into shelter; and Abner,
imploring motherly Mrs. Barker, a wholesome-looking
woman of fifty, to look well to her kinswoman, and
not to let her venture alone upon the streets, took
Pompey in charge, and started off home for Concord
Town.

“Though why I promised, as shouldn’t, to go with
her every time she puts her face out-o’-doors, I don’t

know,”

said the discomfited woman to herself, when
Abner’s back was turned. “Cousin Debby looks ver-
ily like a child accustomed to have her own way —
an’ me, la, J never could make a cat obey me. Dear,
dear! well, I hope she’ll find her father; I hope these
pesky Britishers will leave us alone. These be dret-
ful times, the Lord knows, an’ me a lone woman, with
no one to look after me.”

Dreary and heart-breaking for Debby were the days
that followed. At first good Mrs. Barker made a
show of attendance upon her young cousin that pres-
ently dwindled away to nothing ; and Debby would
patiently tie on her hood and fold her big shawl
around her morning after morning, and make the
search alone. She never knew how near she came
to the object of her sad wanderings. Once, while

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nearing the Province House, she paused and looked
up at the splendid big brick mansion, well set back
on its beautiful lawn, and guarded by a stately oak on
either side of the gateway. All her strength at this
moment seemed to desert her, and she leaned heavily
against the fence with its ornamented posts; her tired
eyes drooped to the ground. A wild desire to risk
everything and rush to its forbidding portals, and
throw herself on the mercy of Governor Gage’s wife,
who was American born, for a moment seized and
overbore her serene, undaunted spirit. Surely she
would, she must, help her to find her father. And
then the girl bitterly reflected that it was the last
thing that the wife of the commander of the British
could do, —secure the dismissal from the British
ranks of soldiery, of a man who had been won to them.

“© God in heaven!” cried poor Debby, overcome
with grief and bitterness, “help me, for there is
none on earth who can.”

A soldier on duty before the Province House
looked at her sharply, and in an instant stepped be-
hind the angle of the mansion, his heart beating as
high as that under the maiden’s bodice. Who can
tell what the father suffered now? or how near he came
to deserting his post? Death, and disgrace to his
name, must ensue; and how could this help Debby?

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He watched her every movement, and the droop of her
sad face, though no expression other than that intense
gaze was on his countenance. And when at last she
turned off, and went on her patient way, he cursed
God in his heart, and prayed to die.

In all this weary search, the only thing that com-
forted Debby was the fact that she could find out
many things that would not be possible for one of
her countrymen to gain. No one would suspect a
young woman, so absorbed in her own personal mat-
ters, of trying to acquire any knowledge that might
be of benefit to the oppressed people. And so it
chanced that Debby gained many valuable bits of
information that she hid in her heart to reveal to
her townspeople on her return. Her return? She
was slowly coming to face the fact that she could
delay it but a little longer; she must go back, and
with a heavier load to carry than the burden she
bore away, for then she had allowed herself to be
buoyed up by hope.

Revolving these thoughts one day, and feeling
faint and ill at the prospect, she turned a sudden
corner, and came, without a hint of warning, upon
the young British officer Thornton. There was no
chance of his evading her, for they met face to face.
With a countenance as pale as her own, he fixed

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upon her his keen dark eyes, and lifted his cap
gravely, again bowing low and reverentially.

“Oh, sir! whoever you are,” cried Debby, clasping
her hands, “undo your wicked work, and help me to
get back my father to the love of his country and
his home!”

The young officer continued to look at her, but
did not speak.

“Tt is useless to attempt to deny it,” said Debby
in a torrent; “you were disguised, and you came to
our town to steal away the hearts of my country-
men. Is this the part of honorable warfare that Eng-
lishmen should play upon a defenceless and well-nigh
crushed people?”

He could not turn whiter, for his pale face was
ghastly now. But he looked at her steadily.

“God is on our side,” said Debby, her bosom
panting, and her pale face and eyes alight. “He
will avenge. You need not think, sir, that you will
go unpunished for your deed.”

“T do not for an instant think this,” said Thornton
in a low voice, clear and well modulated. ‘“ Believe,
Miss Parlin, in this word of mine.”

Her hand, that had been involuntarily raised in
warning, fell to her side, and it was now her turn to
gaze at him open mouthed.

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HOME TO CONCORD TOWN. 313

“My punishment is not for the future; it is here
and now,” he said, his eyes piercing her through
and through.

“Oh, sir!” cried Debby joyfully, the pink color
coming to her pale cheek, and clasping her hands
in gratitude, “now may God forgive me for my harsh
words; you can give me back my father—and par-
don me for forgetting to thank you for saving my
poor life.”

The young officer put up a protesting hand. “I
cannot help you to recover your father. He is in
the British army. No power on earth but his own
desertion can free him. You must not be seen talk-
ing with me. May that God whom you serve, keep
you!” He was gone in an instant, whither Debby
knew not. She staggered on a few steps, paused
weakly, and gathered up all her soul to reach her
kinswoman’s door. But the reaction had been too
great; and with only one thought, ‘‘This must be
death,” she sank to the ground.

A crowd collected, and kind hands picked her up.
“Where to?” they queried. ‘“She’s from the country,
sure.”

It was near the Salter homestead, at what is in
this day the corner of Winter and Washington
Streets; and a gentlewoman looked out of the win-

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dow. It was Mrs. Stedman, then a resident of the
house.

“Run,” she said, to her domestic, a Mrs. Gibson,
whose husband belonged to the British army, “and
see what the tumult is in the street. Perhaps some
woman is sick or in trouble.”

Betsy Gibson threw her apron over her head and
ran out, and presently came beneath the window and
screamed, “It’s a young country girl, and they’ve no-
where to carry her.”

Mrs. Stedman deserted her embroidery, and got out
of her high-backed chair, and casting a glance in the
tall mirror discovered there that she was a comely
spectacle. She passed out and over the broad stair-
way, and picking up her flowered morning-gown over
her stuffed petticoat, she descended with dignity to
the thoroughfare. The crowd made way for her re-
spectfully. There was poor Debby, propped against
the tree with white face and closed eyes. Her hood
had fallen off, and her sunny hair floated away from
her marble face. Her poor hands were folded, and
she looked indeed dead. But the practised eye
of Mrs. Stedman saw a faint movement of the
blue kerchief that denoted life. “Lift her up,’’
she said with the air of authority, “and take her
into my house; and do some of you run for Dr.

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HOME TO CONCORD TOWN. 315

Church,” pointing to his residence but a short dis-
tance away.

The same kind hands that had raised Debby now
bore her to the hospitable mansion; and there, on a
big couch, with Betsy running for hot water and the
simple restoratives of the matron, they all awaited
breathlessly the arrival of the good doctor, who was to
bleed the patient into sensibility and a new lease of
life.

But Debby was saved this experiment. The worthy
doctor was off on his horse, with saddle-bags of medi-
cines and surgical instruments, miles into the coun-
try; and so Debby came unassisted, except by such
attentions as could be shown her by the good matron
and her frightened domestic, back into life again.
And she sat up on the big couch, and tried to tell
enough of her history to satisfy the curiosity of both,
Betsy especially plying her with eager questions.

“Concord? I have heard that it is a goodly town,”
said Mistress Stedman reflectively.

But the girl could not speak. Big tears rolled over
her white face, and she put up no resisting hand.

“Take yourself off, Betty,” commanded Mistress
Stedman, when she saw this; “she is too ill for idle
questions.”

“T am well enough to go on my way now, madam,”

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said Debby, essaying to get to her feet. The furni-
ture seemed to sway about her, and the brocaded cur-
tains to swing from their fastenings. “I must get
back to my kinswoman’s.”

“ And who is she ?” demanded Mistress Stedman.

“Dame Hannah Barker,” said Debby faintly suc-
cumbing to the inevitable, and sinking back again,
closed her eyes.

Mistress Stedman went out speedily, and nearly
overturned Mrs. Gibson, who was applying her ear
to the crack of the door.

“What are you doing here, Betsy?” cried her mis-
tress sharply.

“A-polishin’ up the latch,” said Betsy, beginning
now to rub the end of her check apron smartly over
the brass trimmings of the door. ‘‘I see it needed
it dreadful bad the other day.”

‘‘Nonsense! do you put on your shawl and hood,
and find the house of one Dame Hannah Barker.
And let no grass grow under your feet. Tell her
that her kinswoman — oh, dear me! I didn’t get her
name, and she is too far gone again to trouble her
more—is ill in this house. And be sure not to
bring her back, if she is a fussy or unwholesome per-
son, Betsy; for I’d rather take the care of this young
girl myself than to be over-burdened with a meddle-

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some creature.” With this warning repeated to the
last, Mistress Stedman saw her domestic depart.

”

‘« Betsy is a good creature in the main,’’ she said,
watching the rotund form disappear, “though Heaven
knows I sigh for the day when we shall be in quiet
peace, and the power to adjust our households to
our liking. Though I ought to be thankful that I
can obtain even the wife of a British soldier. British
soldiers!” her comely cheek took on a rosy red, and
her bright eyes snapped beneath her matron’s cap;
‘‘forsooth, what right have they to be quartered on
us in desecration of our town and our liberties ! ”

The ribbons of her cap trembled in indignation
as she hastened back to Debby, glad that she had
for the time some distracting element to draw away
her thoughts from the ever-present distress and hu-
miliation. And loving all household practices, and
especially that of nursing, she speedily made all
things as comfortable around the sick girl as possible,
giving a sigh of relief when Betsy came back and
alone.

Evidently Dame Hannah Barker was not anxious
to intrude herself on the personality of the big man-
sion. She held herself as good as anybody, but pre-
ferred to take no chances at comparison. And since
Debby was apparently in the best of hands, judging

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from the wholesome appearance of the domestic, and
the good sense and kind heartedness of the sender,
she decided, as nothing was said about her coming,
to stay at home.

‘“‘T don’t know but Deb’rah has got herself into
trouble with the Britishers, and madded some on
’em, she’s so bent on her pa. An’ I’m a lone wo-
man and a relict, with no one to look after me.”
She glanced around her tidy house with its accumu-
lations of years of hard work by herself and her
spouse, whose black silk silhouette, and also portions
of his hair wrought into an endless chain of flowers,
reposed on the high mantel-piece, and she shivered in
dread.

“Vou tell her I’ll maybe walk up to-morrow an’
see how she’s a-gettin’ on. If she ain’t no better,
your missis had better send out to Concord for her
folks.”

Instead of which, Mistress Stedman, within a few
days, sent a letter, of which the following is a tran-

scription : —

DEAR MapDam, —

I take my pen in hand to inform you that your daughter
Deborah is in my house with a disorder that is not of great
moment, but which nesesitates her being under good nurs-
ing. She is a good girl, and I mind that she seems to be

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HOME TO CONCORD TOWN. 319

well brought up, and to have a lively consideration for the
feelings of others, which is not always possessed by the
young people of our age. She was with a kinswoman, a
Dame Barker of this town, a commonplace creature enough,
I should judge, having never met her, and with no soul to
apreciate your daughter. It behooves me therefore to beg
of you, my dear madam, the satisfaction of a reply, to say
that you are agreeable to this care that I will exercise for
your daughter, and to add that I will send her home at
the earliest moment that you insist upon, although I hope
to retain her, being strangely attached to her.
Yours to command,
BATHSHEBA STEDMAN.

For the first time in many months Mrs. Parlin
awoke from her state of bitter indifference. She
frightened the children, who had brought her the
big letter written on blue paper and sealed with im-
mense red wafers, by saying, “ You mind the house; ”
and throwing her shawl over her head, without wait-
ing for a hood or a bonnet, she almost ran to the
road.

“Oh, oh, she’s gone crazy again!” screamed
Johnny, as she disappeared; and running out of the
door, he plunged across the greensward between
their cottage and the Felton yellow house.

Doris screamed after him, “Don’t you bring old
Miss Felton, or we shall all be crazy,” she said.

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“I’m goin’ to beg Mr. Septimius to go after her,”
shouted Johnny, “and bring her back.” But Mr.
Septimius was not to be found, being apparently off
exploring the silent haunts of nature on the hill-
top, that wooed him daily; and Johnny, blubbering
and wringing his hands, returned to the cottage,
harassed by the steps of Aunt Keziah, bearing aloft
her herb-pot.

“Come in, come in!” cried Doris, pulling him well
within the green door and turning down the button.
“Don’t bawl so; she can’t get at us.”

“T don’t know about that,” said Johnny through his
tears; “she’s a witch, and witches can go anywheres.”

Doris shook mightily at this; but it was necessary
for some one to be brave, so she said, ‘“ Pshaw, there
ain’t witches now! and I’ll set the kettle biling, and
scald her if she comes in. There, see! she’s gone
home.”

Debby was at this instant saying to good Mistress
Stedman, “I am strong now; I must go home.”

And looking in her face, the kind matron knew
there was no longer an excuse to keep her back. But
she sighed, “I find it in my heart to detain you,
child,” she said; “for you verily have grown into my
love.”

Debby for answer kneeled on the low ottoman at

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HOME TO CONCORD TOWN. 321

the feet of her kind friend. “You have been so good

”

to me,”’ she said brokenly, putting her young hands
on the gay-flowered lap.

Mistress Stedman threw aside her embroidery, and
gathered the girl up to her breast. “You do not need
to tell me your trouble, Deborah; it is enough to me
that you are in distress of mind. Oh, if I could only
help you! But, alas, child, how many hearts are sore
and torn in these cruel days, and there is none to ren-
der assistance |”

“God sent you to my aid,” said Debby, pushing
back the terrible sorrow that must be borne alone.
How could she tell that her father was a soldier in
the British army? And yet she felt meanly indeed,
and sore at heart, to be accepting sympathy and aid
when, as a traitor’s daughter, she deserved to be
thrust without the door.

“Yes; I must go home, my dear Mistress Sted-
man,” she said brokenly, and in a shame-faced man-
ner. “I shall pray for you every day of my life to
the good God. He will reward you, though I cannot.”

Mistress Stedman pressed a kiss on the soft, round
cheek, regaining a little of its wonted color, and the
tears filled her eyes. “There may be much woe ahead
for us both, Deborah,” she said; “God knows. What-
ever comes, we will hold close to each other.”

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And that afternoon Abner Butterfield, who had been
summoned by the mother love, awakened and hungry
for her daughter by the written words of another
woman, drove up in his big green wagon to the Salter
homestead, and said, ‘Deborah, your mother has sent
for you, with kindly words of thankfulness to the one
who has befriended you.”

The young man was too much shocked at Debby’s
changed appearance to keep his countenance.

“She is quite strong now,” said Mistress Stedman
cheerfully. ‘‘I could wish that she might have my
nursing a bit longer, but it may not be,” she added
sorrowfully, all her heart going out to the girl.

She stood on the steps of the hospitable mansion
and watched them depart. “It is easy to see that the
honest fellow devours her with his eyes, and that his
heart is wholly hers. But that little flower of a
maiden, despite her rustic gown and speech, is worthy
to grace a high station, and I pray God that she be
not sacrificed. If she could only remain with me, I
could fit her for her evident destiny.” She sighed,
and turned back with irritation to her embroidery.

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“7 AM A TRAITOR’S DAUGHTER!” 323

XXII.

“T AM A TRAITOR’S DAUGHTER!’”’

HE keeping-room of the Wood mansion was
astir with patriotism, the walls echoing and
re-echoing to the fearless utterances of the fathers
of the town, met in deliberative council, informal,
and at short notice. They had sat there for an hour
or more discussing various ways and means at this
juncture, of helping toward some decisive crisis, the
complications in which they and their unfortunate
countrymen were entangled. Suddenly Mrs. Wood’s
pale, earnest face was put within the doorway.
“Father,” she said, “Deborah Parlin has something
to say to you and to the others.”

“Let the child wait,” said Mr. Wood quickly, to
whom Debby seemed but a little one in pinafores
along with his Perces. And he went on with his
talk with Brother Hosmer.

“Indeed, I think, father, it would be well to see
Deborah before you decide thus,” Mrs. Wood ven-
tured to say.

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“T agree with you, Mrs. Wood,” said Mr. Hey-
wood; “for since Deborah gave us so much infor-
mation of matters in Boston that she learned in her
visit there, I for one feel her to be an uncommonly
sensible young person. Perchance she may have
come into possession of some news of great value.”

“Tf that is so, I would have her called in at
once,” said Mr. Wood, relenting; and he laid down
the paper upon which he had been laboriously lin-
ing and interlining various paragraphs, sighing, how-
ever, as he did so.

Deborah came in, paler than was her wont, but
otherwise not changed in appearance or manner, ex-
cept for a certain gravity that overlaid her old
sprightliness, and became her greatly.

,

“Thank you for letting me come,” she said simply;
“T will tell my story quickly.”

“What is it, Deborah child?” cried Mr. Wood
eagerly, leaning his ponderous body forward to catch
every word; “some news of the enemy?”

“Have they advanced? are they coming?” cried
one excitable individual, springing from his chair,
and beginning to look for his gun, which he had
set up in the corner on entering.

“Nay,” said Deborah; “it is not of the enemy I

come to speak to-day. I know naught of them.”

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“I AM A TRAITOR’S DAUGHTER!” 325

“Tt ill befits thee then, child, to interrupt us at
our conference,” said Mr. Wood in cold reproof.
“Another time, Deborah, we will hear thee, if thou
desirest to speak; but go thou away now.”

“Nay, nay, dear Mr. Wood, do not send me away
till I have told thee all,” cried Debby, in a voice
of so much anguish that every one started to see
her face changed to one torn with sorrow and shame.
“T have struggled with myself so long in order to
make my heart and mind willing to come—oh, do
not send me away until you hear my story!”

“The child has something on her mind, and it
would be the best and easiest way to let her free
herself,” said Mr. James Barrett, now a colonel.
“Come, Debby girl, what is it?” he asked kindly.

Debby controlled a violent desire to turn and rush
from the room; instead, she took one step until she
stood within the circle of watchful faces, and stood by
the big mahogany centre-table. “My father is a Tory,
and a soldier in the British army.”

The entire circle stood upon their feet. “It is
not possible!” thundered Mr. Wood. “In the Brit-
ish army? Girl, you are dreaming!”

“As God lives,” said Debby, “my father is in the
British army. You should know this, though I have
struggled with myself to make it seem right to keep

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it from you.” And then she told her story: How he
had been led away; of her mother’s illness and
changed condition; and of her decision to fold the
sin and shame in her own breast; of her search for
her father in Boston Town; of the inevitable and
hopeless result; and lastly, of her battle with her-
self to keep from laying the secret bare.

It was all told; and still the circle stood as one
man, unwilling or unable to believe that John Parlin,
whom they all believed dead, had turned traitor to
his country, and was even now bearing arms against
her.

“Tt is a sorry tale,” observed Colonel Barrett;
“and it distresses me greatly.” He looked strangely
moved, and glanced at his fellow-townsmen. They
were all affected to silence by the sudden surprise.
Debby, having told her story, stood pale and motion-
less in the centre of the group.

“But, Debby, child,” Mr. Wood found his kind
heart coming to the rescue, and his good sense as
well, “there surely is no fault to be laid to your
door, and no stain.”

“You forget,” said Debby, standing now with proud
scorn, and uplifted eyes where before they had
drooped in shame, “I am a traitor’s daughter; there
is his blood in my veins. Every one must know

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“J AM A TRAITOR’S DAUGHTER!” 327

it, and the very ground will cry out when I go abroad.
All the people will despise me, as well they may, —
a traitor’s daughter!”

“Debby, child, are you mad?” cried Mr. Wood,
seizing her arm. “No such shame can be laid to
your door. Shame is the result of sin. Your love
for your country is as pure and true as ours.”

“Ah,” cried Debby with sudden fire, “but you
can do something to prove your love. You can save
this town; you are men, and you can make your
names so that they will ring with your country’s
praises. What can a poor weak girl do but die in
shame at her father’s treachery and her own weak-
ness?”

“What do you want to do, Deborah?” asked Mr.
Hosmer in pity, and more for the purpose of humor-
ing her mood than for any answer she might make.

“Anything where there is danger — that is needed.
Make me a spy. I am trained by what I have learned
in Boston Town, and able also to use my powers. I
can learn many things that may be of use to this town
and to my country. Oh! I long to do something to
prove that I have, as you just said, a love for my
country as pure and true as yours.”

“My poor child!” Mr. Wood took one of the cold
hands in his big palms; “do not fret yourself at your

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lack of opportunity. Deborah, the time is coming to
you, I verily believe, when in this town you may be
able to prove your bravery and your devotion. It is
coming for us all I believe also,” he added solemnly.
“ And we who are standing here, each man of us, feels
it in his soul, I venture to assert.” They all silently
bowed their heads. “ Meantime hearken, Deborah.
Whoever bears such a cross as do you, and patiently
serves out each day with the work allotted to you,
holding firm and high the love of country, such an
one is a Patriot. Bless you, my dear child; say no
more, only go your way in content, and worry your
poor heart no longer.”

But great was the consternation in Concord Town
when it became known that John Parlin was not only
a traitor, but in the active service of his Majesty, ac-
tually belonging to the regular troops. It seemed at
first as if all his old friends (and who of them had not
been glad and proud to claim honest John as friend
and fellow-citizen?) could not curse his name and
fame with too loud and deep objurgation. What to
them was now his former fair name but so much
added reason to hold up his infamy to the world of
neighbors and fellow-townsmen! And Debby was
right. The innocent must suffer with the guilty; and
although she had their love and their pity, many there

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“I AM A TRAITOR’S DAUGHTER!” 329

were who raised only feeble doubts when it was
hinted that they “guessed Parlin’s family got a good
price for his serving as a redcoat,” or “the Parlin girl
doesn’t seem to mind her father’s bein’ a Tory,” when
she went with the children to the old meeting-house
as usual on the Sabbath day. And she bore many
cold looks and averted faces from people who were
embittered by privation and distress, and fears of
coming evil of darker portent.

So the days came and went, and the red cloud of
war was arising and illumining the sky. The ranks of
the minute-men were filling up rapidly. There was the
noise of the drum-beat and of the fife in the air, to
awaken the echoes from farmyard and meadow. Men
began to voice themselves still more boldly, and to
work with ill-concealed delight at the preparations for
the coming struggle. And the girls, working in Milis-
cent’s house, with Debby in their midst, labored fast
and furiously now at the cartridges, each little instru-
ment of death destined to help forward the war that
now began to be talked of as what must surely come.

The girls were lovely to Debby, encircling her,
after the first horror of the thing had passed, with
their loyal devotion, and striving in every way to
make her forget. On Miliscent seemed to rest the spe-
cial privilege and responsibility of soothing the over:

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wrought sensitiveness that shuddered even when no
suggestion of or allusion to the painful story was
thought of. She often kept Debby at her house over
night after the work of making the cartridges was done
for the day, and by every means in her power sought
to alleviate the sore distress that had fallen upon her
dearly loved friend.

‘* Miliscent,” said Debby one night, — the two girls
had said their prayers and kissed each other good-
night, but lingered a while at the window, in the pale
moonlight flooding the farm land, — ‘‘ just think how
very long we have been getting ready for what is
coming in this town—the list of the big days, when
for years and years Concord Town has spoken out
for freedom and her country’s rights, and that you
and I have kept. I read mine over every day.”

“Ves,” said Miliscent, getting up from the floor
where she had been kneeling, her head on the window-
sill, to go over to the high shelf and take down a
long white paper, tied with one of her few treasured
bits of ribbon. ‘It is blue, because it is true,” she
said coming back with it in her hand.

“That is the ribbon you had given you when you
went to Cambridge; I remember it,” said Debby;
“your grandmother gave it to you for your hair.”

“Yes,” said Milliscent, “Grandmother Barrett did;

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“I AM A TRAITOR’S DAUGHTER!” 331

but I had rather tie up my Concord Town days with
it, so I saved it, and put it on here.”

“‘T didn’t have any ribbon,” said Debby with a
sigh; ‘‘I tied mine up with a linen string, and it was
white, and part of mother’s setting out, and she spun
it with her own hand.”

“Well, that is better than mine, and white is for
purity,” said Miliscent comforting her; “and I should
never have thought of writing them all down if it
hadn’t been for you, Debby dear. I saw it first in
your room. But you had a red bit on yours too, the
last time I saw it.”

Debby hesitated. ‘‘Yes; I put it there since
father ” —

“‘Don’t speak it,” said Miliscent, laying her hand
on her friend’s mouth; “just keep it in your heart,
and never say the words. Well, red is for courage,
Debby, as well as for blood. And you can show
yours, dear. I do believe there is some splendid
thing coming for you to do for your country.” Mi-
liscent’s eyes glowed and her bosom heaved.

“Father has become a man of blood, and taken up
arms against his country, and I must never forget
it,” said Debby steadily; “although you and the
girls are all kind to try to make me, Miliscent.
And, oh! thank you for believing that something will

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be given for me to do that can help this town to
be free.”
“And now let’s talk of the great days of Concord

Town,”

said Miliscent cheerily. “See, Debby, as
long ago as October, 1767, how we began to oppose
the Stamp Act! Look, I put it down with tremen-
dous letters, see! and I blotted it as well,” she added
mournfully. “I never shall forget my distress; and
I tried salt on it, and vinegar and everything, for
you know I couldn’t get another piece of paper.
Grandfather had given this to me with especial charge
to keep it nice, for it was all he could spare.”

“Well, then, December, 1767, is the next date
that I put down,” said Debby, losing her sorrowful
thoughts for a moment.

“That’s just it. I copied from yours, you know,”
said Miliscent— “when the selectmen sent in the
report they had made, and the town voted ‘to en-
courage industry, economy, frugality, and manufac-
tures at home and abroad, and to prevent purchasing
so much as we have done of foreign commodities.’

“And then Sept. 22, 1768, grandfather was chosen
a delegate to the Boston convention,” said Miliscent
in pride; but remembering Debby’s father, she quickly
passed on to the next event in big letters, headed
town meeting, Jan. 11, 1773.

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“I AM A TRAITOR’S DAUGHTER!” 333

“T wanted to copy this every word,” she said. “TI
heard grandfather read ’em; he had the committee at
his house ever so many times, and grandmother and I
used to hear them talking it over. But they are all on
the town records, so I only put town meeting down,
and let it go at that. And the next one is” —

“‘Jan. 20, 1774,
ing of tea, you know, and that Perces Wood’s father
signed, don’t you know.” She laid her head in

”

said Debby, “about the export-

deep distress upon her folded arms on the window-
sill. These other girls, with their beautiful and holy
memories, what a heritage they had! and she—a
traitor’s child!

“Debby,” said Miliscent tenderly, her soft arms
around her neck, and her loving voice in her ear,
“we will put this up, if it makes you feel badly.
Come, it’s getting late, dear, and we ought to go to
bed.”

“T shall always meet something that brings me
face to face with the fact that I am a traitor’s
daughter,” said Debby in a bitter tone, and raising
her head; ‘‘no, go on, Miliscent;—so I read over
and over my list every day, and it strengthens me
to work for the future. Go on, dear,” she added
more gently.

“Then the non-consumption covenant, June 27,

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334 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

1774,” said Miliscent. “Just think, more than three
hundred men signed that, Debby. I know your
father must have been among them, for he was al-
ways so good and patriotic. May Heaven deal
with those who led him astray, instead of counting
it sin laid to his charge.

“And then in August how many dates there are,”’
she hastened to add, “of town and county conven-
tions. See, Debby, ever so many!”

‘‘And all along after,” said Debby, ‘‘thick and
fast. But the Provincial Congress is the best of all,
and the Committee of Safety day, and the Minute-
Men day, and the day the cannon were bought and
brought.”

“And the Liberty Pole day,” cried Miliscent in
great excitement, “and’’ —

‘*Girls! girls! go to bed!” called Mrs. Barrett.

‘¢And the Enlistment day,’’ whispered Miliscent,
as she hung up her precious list, —she had left out the
Tory day, and the meetings on the Common for con-
sultation and action on their cases,— “and all the
rest. O Debby! Concord Town has got to do some
splendid work now, after being such a long time get-
ting ready. And you and I, depend upon it, will
have a little piece of the work for our hands.”

They kissed each other again, and climbed into the

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“7 AM A TRAITOR’S DAUGHTER!” — 335

four poster. Miliscent was soon asleep, her breath
falling lightly upon the air; but Debby lay with the
moonlight flooding her, a prey to wretched and hope-
less thoughts, stretching down to the years in which
she could never forget that she was a traitor’s
daughter.

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XXITI.

“THE REG’LARS ARE COMING !”’

T was the 18th of April. The Provincial Com-
mittee of Safety was meeting up town as it had
met three times before during the month. The min-
ute companies were out for their military exercise,
while hitherto peaceful citizens might be seen wend-
ing their way along, their guns over their shoulders.
Even the Sabbath day saw some of them thus ac-
coutred. But nature was at peace. Soft was the
air and mild the season. The open winter had
brought forward an early spring, her youthful arms
full of promising vegetation. “The winter grain had
grown several inches out of the ground,” and “the
fruit-trees were in blossom.”
“T saw a robin down by Mill Brook,” said Doris
coming in, in great excitement, “and I ain’t going

af

to wear this old hood any more,’’ casting it on the
floor.
‘‘ Huh! that’s nothing — one old robin; I saw two

robins last February,’”’ declared Johnny, who had

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“THE REG’LARS ARE COMING!” 337

never ceased boasting of it. ‘‘Great big ones, with
my own eyes, Doris Parlin.”

Doris didn’t care, since the robins had come to
her, and evidently to stay, how many he had seen.
She continued to remark that she wasn’t going to
wear her hood any more, and she was hot with that
dreadful thick dress on, and couldn’t she take it off.

“And go squealing round with the earache,” put
in Johnny, resenting the lack of interest over his
robins.

“Stop it! I don’t squeal half as much as you do,”
retorted Doris, her usually stolid face red with anger.

“T don’t squeal; it’s only girls that scream and
cry. Say that again, and I’ll slap you.”

“Children, children, don’t quarrel!” said Debby,
spinning over in the corner. “How can you, when
no one knows how soon we shall be in a dreadful war?
Do let us all live in peace with each other.”

“No one can live in peace with Johnny,” said
Doris, relapsing into her matter-of-fact way; “he’s
worse’n the Britishers. He did scream when he cut
his thumb, and then he went behind the wood-pile
and cried and cried.”

Johnny sprang after her, beating the air with his
fists, but Debby got between the two. “O children,
just think! who knows how long we shall have our

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338 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

home or each other? and here you are wasting these
precious moments in bickering.”

“T won’t let the Reg’lars get in,” declared Johnny,
veering off to the never-tiresome topic, —the dread of
araid of British soldiery after the stores. ‘When they
see me, I guess they’ll run, and let our home alone.”

“You know nothing about what you are talking
of.” She shook her head sadly, yet there was a fire in
her blue eye. “Well, go to your work, and pray God
you may be brave children when the time comes.”

“T’m going to make a little garden when I’m
through with my work, and plant my seeds Mrs. But-
terfield gave me,” said Doris, trying not to be
crushed at sister Debby’s rebuke.

?

“T’ll help you,” said Johnny magnanimously; “at
any rate, I will to-morrow. Wait until to-morrow,
Doris, then we’ll fix it out under the big elm.”

“All right,” said Doris amicably; “ to-morrow
morning just as soon as I get the dishes washed up,
then we’ll begin it.”

The candles were extinguished early in the Parlin
cottage; and Debby, soothed by the soft air that
played through the little window, and worn out by her
toil of a tedious day, fell into slumber. She was
wandering in the old days, when the talk of coming

trouble with the king and Parliament could not vex

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“THE REG’LARS ARE COMING!” 339

the soul of a light-hearted maiden, scarcely more than
a child. Her little world of girls and their favored
swains in old Concord Town was again gay and
happy. How she had laughed at Abner Butterfield,
holding him up to the ridicule of the girls for his big
hands and awkward ways, and then laughing more yet
to see how he took it to heart when she smiled on Jim
and the other young men in a way she never remem-
bered being able to help. Miliscent and she were off
gathering flowers, or following the course of the river
in its woodside meanderings, and yes, there was Per-
ces and her other mates, and life was sunny, and she
was joyous once more, for her world of dreams never
hinted of a father’s dishonor. And now Miliscent
was ahead, and had discovered a lovely flower spot,
and was calling her. “I’m coming, Miliscent!” cried
Debby in answer, and she sprang up in bed, a smile
on her dewy face.

“THE REG’LARS ARE COMING!” shouted a voice, as
a horseman clattered by, the hoofs of the animal
striking deep into the road with every spring. In
a flash Debby was on her feet, throwing her shawl
over her shoulders, and rushing to the window. It
was Dr. Samuel Prescott, she could tell by his voice,
if she could not see in the dim light his figure, as he
bent to his horse’s mane, urging him to top speed.

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340 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“THe REG’LARS ARE COMING!” back peals his cry,
echoing through all the open meadows, across the
road guarded by the Mill Brook and the silence of
Walden Pond beyond. “THE REG’LARS ARE COMING!”

Debby hurried on her clothes with hands that knew
no quaking. The past had dropped from her like a
cloud, and she recognized that for the daughter of
the traitor had now dawned a day of opportunity.
Slipping down stairs lightly, her shoes in her hand,
not to awaken the children, she said softly, ‘‘ Mother,
did you hear it? It’s come. The Reg’lars are on the
way |”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Parlin stonily; ‘‘I heard.”

‘‘Mother,” —the girl crept in the bedroom, and
laid her cheek down against the thin white one;
Doris slept, a round body of blissful composure, on
the other side of the big four-poster; the baby was
cuddled in the trundle-bed ; and Debby whispered low
against the ear that did not appear to notice or to
care, —“I’m going to give the alarm too.”

“Do!” cried her mother fiercely. “I would that
I could. And hark ye, Debby, bear yourself this day,
whatever comes, as if you knew naught of traitors or
traitor’s blood in your veins. You are my daughter
too; remember that. And my blood, loyal and true,
will leap to rescue you from your shame. Would

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“THE REG’LARS ARE COMING!” 341

to God I could go too, and could work and fight.”
She covered her face with her thin hands, and shook
with tearless sobs.

“Mother, mother!” cried Debby, thrilling at her
words, ‘‘you will wake the children. See, I’m going
now; give me my blessing, for I may not return, but
take you at your word.”

“T bless you,” said Mrs. Parlin putting both hands
solemnly on the sunny head; “only show yourself
worthy of my blood, and may God keep you!”

“Mother, you will take the children and go over
the Ridge to Aunt Sophia’s,” said Debby; “it’s safer
there. Take over the silver buckles and the pew-
ter; they are all done up in the checked apron, you
know. The Reg’lars may be down over this road.
Good-by, mother.”

‘¢ Good-by, my child.”

It all took but a few moments, and Debby was out
in the soft light of the morning twilight. Even now
it gave promise of the ‘‘ever glorious morning” with
which the patriot Adams ushered in the dawn of that
memorable day. Without so much as a glance at the
scenes burned into her memory, Debby sped on, giv-
ing her young voice to the morning air, as she shrilled
out clear and high, ‘‘ Zhe Reg’lars are coming! The
Reg’lars are coming!”

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342 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

It brought Septimius and Aunt Keziah to the
windows of the yellow farmhouse. ‘‘O Mr. Felton,”
she cried, ‘‘do come and help!” Aunt Keziah
grunted something inaudible at a distance; but Sep-
timius flushed deeply, and closed his shutter hastily.
‘‘T want not to mingle in scenes of blood,” he said
to himself as Debby sped on.

Seeming not to touch the ground, the girl ran,
making here and there a détour from the main road,
down which she knew Dr. Prescott had aroused the
inhabitants; and into many a lonely farmhouse she
rushed to spread the news and arouse the minute-
men, Calling and shrilling it out as she hasted on
and on, oblivious to fatigue, and scarce knowing
that she was in the body. And now the church-bell
clanged out on the edge of three o’clock.

At last, in the full flush of the morning splendor,
and fresh from the massacre at Lexington, there
marched over the Old Bay Road, sent out to Con-
cord Town, eight hundred strong, the grenadiers,
light infantry, and marines, the ‘‘ flower of the Brit-

ish army.”
Passing the jest along,

The jubilant host march on,

and Concord Town, by her river of peace, was wait-
ing to receive them.

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“THE REG’LARS ARE COMING!” 343

At this moment Debby, having done what she
could by way of summons, now had a sudden pang
at thought of mother and the children; and she re-
traced her steps to rush into the little old kitchen.
The children were crying, and hanging to Mrs. Par-
lin’s skirts, who had clasped her baby in her arms,
and now stood quite bewildered in the middle of the
floor.

‘‘We can’t get her out,” sobbed Johnny; ‘we've
pulled and hauled, and she won’t stir a step.”

“‘Come, mother,” said Debby soothingly; ‘‘ we
are going to Aunt Sophia’s, you know. Here, take
my hand. Johnny, you can carry the apron bundle.”
She could hear the dull echo of tramp, tramp, and
her fancy at least brought her the rattle of the
swords and musketry, with a sickening dread for
her little family about her. ‘“ Hurry, there is no
time to lose. Dear mother, come.”

” cried the distracted woman stub-

“Tt’s my home,
bornly; ‘‘no British soldier shall drive me out of
it,” while the children roared harder than ever, and
the baby in sympathy put up its lip and whimpered.

Tramp, tramp! it was clearly defined now; yes,
there was the dreadful rattling noise, and voices of
command, and a confused babel of sounds as of a

large advancing body.

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344 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“Mother,” said Debby, “your daughter kneels to
you.” She sank down, still clinging to her mother’s
hand. “In a few moments it will be too late.
Come mother, dear mother! we must save the chil-
dren, if we care not for ourselves.”

At the word “children” a shiver passed ovar the
frame of Mrs. Parlin. She glanced around at her
small brood, and gathered the baby closer into her
breast. ‘You are right, Debby,” she said; “I will
go to Sophia’s.”

Debby sprang up, put Johnny, grasping the blue-
checked apron bundle containing the silver buckles,
some precious bits of linen, and other household
stuff, in front, marshalled Doris, and still grasping
her mother’s hand, she opened the old green door.

A glance down the road, a wild throbbing at the
heart, an attempt to thrust the mother, who is closely
following, back into the house—too late! the advance
guard of British soldiers, only a few rods before the
army, rushed up to her, and charged their bayonets
almost into her face. Johnny stared, wide-eyed and
dazzled by the scarlet uniforms ablaze with gilt,
stunned into silence. As for Doris, she was too
frightened to open her mouth. Mrs. Parlin dropped
to the threshold, and strained her baby to her breast.

“What would you do with us?” demanded Debby

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“ THE REG’LARS ARE COMING!” 348

with flashing eyes, and drawing herself to her full
height. “Do you send a full army,” glancing at
the glittering host, “to a quiet, peaceful town to
attack defenceless women and children?” in wither-
ing scorn. “You see our defenders,” she pointed
to Doris and Johnny and the baby, who peeped out
from under his mother’s arm.

“Egad! but you are a bold little rebel, and need
to be taken over to King George for treatment. How-
ever, I’ll let you off with a kiss for my pains, and
a mouthful of breakfast, pretty one.” He advanced
to her as he spoke with that easy familiarity that
betokens the conqueror. But Debby held him with
a clear blue eye, and he stopped in a shame-faced
way that he hoped none of his comrades saw. “As
sure as there is a God in heaven,” said the girl,
lifting her slender hand, and pointing to the sun-
light reflecting the Ridge in its golden beauty, “a
curse will fall on you this day, if you touch one
hair of our heads. Go search our house for food,
if you wish. You will find it bare enough. God
alone knows how we have lived while we tried to
serve him. Go, and find what you can, and see
the cottage you would rob.” She pushed the door
wide with her scornful foot, and viewed them all,
and the advancing host, with absolute composure.

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3406 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

”

“Let the girl alone,” commanded the leader, com-
ing up, and learning the cause of the uproar, “Have
we not all large work enough before us this day
without wasting our precious moments. Before night-
fall we’ll have every rascally rebel in this town under
our feet. March on, my men.” He swung his sword,
and stepped off down the road, as confident a speci-
men of manhood as one could hope to see. And
after him went the glittering ranks of red and gold,
every man smiling into the faces of his comrades.
Oh, what a feast of varied pleasures should be theirs
when once this proud old town had fallen into their
hands!

Debby stood rooted to the spot, and gazed after
them. It was not until the last line had disappeared
in the curve of the wayfaring, that she stirred. Her
eyes had looked upon “the peddler” as a British
officer, tall and handsome in his resplendent uniform.
In that dreadful moment, when her whole soul was
calling upon a righteous God for vengeance on him,
there shot to her from his piercing dark eye as he
passed, a glance of suffering, appealing and swift.
It went through her like a knife.

“Come, mother,” she said, touching her arm; but
the mother did not move, and Debby, with a name-
less dread at her heart, leaned over to see that she

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“THE REG’LARS ARE COMING!” 347

had fainted. It was now the work of a few moments
to resuscitate her as best she could, with Doris, whose
dumb admiration changed to fright and anger, cling-
ing to her, impeding every movement. At last Mrs.
Parlin opened her eyes. ‘“O daughter!” with a long-
drawn sigh, “have they gone?”

“Yes, mother.”

“ And taken nothing? ”

“Yes.”

“Are your grandfather’s silver buckles safe? ”

“They are here in the bundle.”

“Get the silver pieces in the stocking leg in the
chimney closet.”

?

“You forget, mother,” said Debby in a low voice
so the children might not hear, “that we have spent
those lately.”

“True,” cried Mrs. Parlin with returning passion,
and she sprang to her feet with sudden energy. “O
Debby! let us go. They will come back here. Shut
the door fast, though there is small hope that house
or home will be left for us if we ever do get back.
Now let us be gone to your Aunt Sophia’s.”

“Are you able to walk there, mother?” asked
Debby, gazing at her fearfully.

“Yes, yes; only let us get out of this dreadful
place,” cried the mother with feverish energy. She

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348 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

fairly thrust Debby off the flat door-stone; and her.
self, with the baby at her bosom, rapidly led the
way up to the Ridge by the trail their feet had often
worn.

Debby shut the old green door, and took one long
look around on all things. “Come, Doris,” she said,
grasping her fat hand.

Old Aunt Keziah peered out at them from her
side window when they were well within the trail.
“TI can’t get Seppy to go; no, I can’t, an’ more’s
the pity; for our house’ll be burnt round our heads,
an’ he doesn’t care.”

Rose Garfield and Mr. Felton stood by the old
well in the Felton dooryard. Debby vouchsafed only
a contemptuous glance at the pensive, silent man,
like an indifferent spectator at his country’s peril,
as she sped on.

Shortly the dense wood was reached, then the
plateau was passed. Debby could hear the shouts
and confusion of the town beneath, as it was wafted
to her tortured ears, and her heart leaped in her
bosom at what she believed was the beginning of
the slaughter to come to the old town; though that
it could result in anything but victory for Concord,
the girl never once allowed herself to imagine.
Drenched in blood she seemed to see all things, in

Digitized by Microsoft®
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“THE REG’LARS ARE COMING!” 349

a confused and awful dream; but out of it, somehow,
some time, God was to interpose and save his people.
And fired by all these thoughts, and her terrible anx-
iety to be up at Colonel Barrett’s, where she felt
sure she could help, Debby put forth every effort
to urge the footsteps of the little party to the utmost
speed. On the wings of the wind, Mrs. Parlin
needed no urging. Her slender feet scarcely touched
the ground; and Debby, impeded by stout little
Doris, had hard work to keep up with the mother.

At last the red roof of Aunt Brown’s little story-
and-a-half house was seen, and redoubling all their
energies, the four were soon at the kitchen-door and
begging for admittance; for it was heavily barred, and
everything pulled down before the windows, so that
they could not see within.

“Oh, she’s fled; Sophia has fled!” mourned Mrs.
Parlin, sinking down exhausted on the step.

“TJ don’t think so,” said Debby. “She is scared
like, she is so feeble; and the boys, of course, are
off with the minute company. Aunt Sophia! Aunt
Sophia!” she called, and rapped on the little window-
panes.

A shuffling noise was heard within, the heavy oaken
bar was withdrawn, and Aunt Sophia’s pale, haggard

face appeared.

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350 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

“© Lyddy!” she fell on her sister’s neck a mo-
ment, then drew her into the kitchen — “and you poor
children. Oh, the Lord has forsaken us!” and throw-
ing her apron over her head, great sobs shook her thin,
spare frame.

“Take care of mother,’’ said Debby, swiftly con-
signing them all to Aunt Sophia. “ You'll be sorry,
aunt, before night that you said those words, for God
is our helper.” Then she set a kiss on her mother’s
lips, and ran off, not heeding, —

“Debby, Deborah Parlin! Why, where is the girl
going, Lyddy?” from her aunt’s lips.

As swiftly as a young fawn, knowing no such word
as fatigue, she sped, skirting the road, till she reached
the confines of the burying-ground hill, where she
concealed herself from view, and silently watched the
preparations for the on-coming struggle. The Regu-
lars had paused to reconnoitre before proceeding far-
ther on their way to secure the military stores at the
homestead of Colonel James Barrett and their other
hiding-places in the old town.

The houses in the vicinity were shut and barred in
the poor way that was all they could command for
protection, and the women and children huddled
within them for safety. Excited knots of townspeo-
ple might be seen on the Milldam, — citizens, militia,

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“THE REG’LARS ARE COMING!” 351

minute-men,— trying to protect all such Provincial
stores that the hasty alarm had not allowed time to
remove to a place of safety.

A part of Captain Brown’s company had paraded at
daybreak. The minute-men and militia were also on
duty on the Common getting their ammunition from
the court-house, and marching down to see if the Reg-
ulars were really coming in over the Old Bay Road;
while a party of the minute company from Lincoln,
who had been aroused by the calls of Samuel Pres-
cott, were also early on the ground, making in all
something like one hundred men armed enough to
fight. When, behold! about seven of the clock, the
glittering forces of England’s trained soldiery, fresh
from the massacre at Lexington, advanced in all their
military splendor over the winding thoroughfare, with
faces set toward Concord Town.

“Let us stand our ground!” cried young Parson
Emerson, who had been busy going about among
the men to stimulate and to exhort; “and if we die,
let us die right here!”

Eleazar Brooks of Lincoln was reconnoitring from
the hill, when some one cried, “ Let us go and meet
them ” —“‘No;” he called sternly, “it will not do for
us to begin the war;” and they waited on the north-
ern slope of the burying-ground hill till, one hun-

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352 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

dred and fifty strong, they obeyed the command to
march to the Old North Bridge and —

Hardest of all to wait,

To say coolly, one by one,

‘‘We will never fire a single shot

Unless first fired upon.’’
The British army, in the flower of its youth and
beauty, halted; the grenadiers were posted on the
Common, while six companies of light infantry were
stationed on the hill. Debby, from her place of
concealment, could see all this, and keep unob-
served herself. Gorgeous in their gay uniforms and
shining arms, with high spirits, they chaffed each
other, and passed the word of badinage along their
glittering ranks! What a pity! Could not some in-
tervening power keep these simple, misguided farmers
from further show of resistance? Really it was in the
conquering hearts to pity the poor fools who were to
fall such easy game before the British guns.

And amongst the glittering ranks of soldiers she
spied two central figures of importance on the old
hill burying-ground. One of them had a field-glass,
and the other was talking earnestly, both helped by
the previous intelligence as to topography of the
town and the location of the military stores, from
the Tories and the English spies. Debby thrilled at

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“THE REG’LARS ARE COMING!” 353

sight of them, although she did not know that her
eyes were looking at Major Pitcairn and Colonel
Smith. It seemed to her that in their keeping was
the destiny of the town, as they examined and con-
sulted over all the points and indications of the
situation. It was through that field-glass perhaps
that lay the clews to the indefensibility of her poor,
oppressed people.

But even in that dreadful moment her heart did
not falter. With a prayer, unuttered it is true, but
just as surely winging its way to the God of na-
tions, she glanced around the old hill burying-
ground, eloquent with the quiet dead, whose lives
had been passed in toil, in oppression, in anguish
and dread, but never in a loss of the simple and
rugged faith of their fathers, and the steadfast hope
of the help to come from the mighty God whom
they served.

And thrusting her fingers in her ears to shut out
the ominous signs of the portending struggle, “and
longing to close her eyes as well, she plunged unob-
served down the back of the hillside, and made all
possible speed toward the Barrett homestead.

It being of the utmost importance to the British
to gain control of the two bridges —the Old South
and the Old North—that crossed the river and

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354. A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

guarded the main avenues of the town, the struggle
had now begun for their possession. Hoping to
keep the militia and minute-men thus at bay, Colo-
nel Smith therefore remained in the town centre,
while he sent six companies of light infantry to
hold the North Bridge, and then to set about the
work of capturing the stores. Out of these six com-
panies three were to guard the bridge; the other three
were ordered to Colonel James Barrett’s home to
destroy the military stores. The Tenth Regiment
was stationed at the South Bridge, while Smith and
Pitcairn, with the grenadiers, held the centre of the
old town, pillaging what ammunition and provisions
they could capture. Excellently well planned, with
plenty of soldiers, and apparently a clear field before
them.

As Debby ran lightly on, already were they set
about their work. The noise of it shocked that
quiet spring morning, and reached her as she fled.
On she rushed over by-path, and through nook and
field and forest, scarcely daring to breathe freely un-
til she stood in the Barrett kitchen. in the midst of
the stout hearts and busy hands swiftly concealing the
property of the town and the Province, left as a
sacred charge to the shelter of their household.

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SEARCHING FOR THE STORES. 355

XXIV.

SEARCHING FOR THE STORES.

se HERE’S Miliscent?” cried Debby, bursting
into the ‘‘ muster-room.”

Stephen, the son, had been posted off to Price Place
at the juncture of the roads, to warn the Stow and
Harvard minute-men not to come down the Barrett
Mill Road, as this would make a meeting certain
with the British soldiers, momentarily now expected
at the old homestead.

‘« She’s been helping her father get her mother and
the children off to a place of safety,’? answered
Grandmother Barrett, pale and determined, but with
a light in her eyes no one had seen there before. It
was as if a positive delight now took the place of
watchful outlook for impending evil, and her step
was as free as a girl’s. ‘‘To the woods back of the
house, more’n likely. Then, when they’re fixed, he’s
going to join his company, and Miliscent’s coming
here.”” She spoke as if all this were only every-day
preparations. One must rub one’s eyes and believe

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himself to be dreaming, to think of a terrible struggle
perhaps already begun, but two short miles away, in
a war for liberty against oppression.

‘‘Here, Debby, run up and put those balls in a
barrel of feathers you will find up in the garret,” she
said, pointing to the ammunition in the corner on the
floor. ‘‘Sink ’em well down at the bottom, and pile
the feathers lightly over them.”

“The cartridges—oh, where are they?” cried
Debby, bundling the balls rapidly into her blue-
checked apron.

‘¢ James took off the last load yesterday afternoon,’’
said grandmother. ‘‘ Thank the Lord, they will be do-
ing their blessed work before long,”’ she added grimly.

‘‘Oh, yes, thank the Lord!” Debby’s brain was in
a whirl; but she blessed Him, as she staggered over
the attic stairs and did as commanded. Then, just
as she was running down again, her eye spied a big
hair trunk under some boxes.

“T remember Miliscent said once, when we were
up here putting away the butternuts, that there were
silver pieces in it, and papers that must be saved
if any harm threatened the house. 1’1] look within.”

She got the boxes off, and freed the trunk for obser-
vation, and, throwing up the lid—yes, there were
rolls and packages of yellowed papers tied with linen

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strings, and down in the corner was a stout bag that
rattled its contents when shaken. Here doubtless
were the silver pieces. There was no time to lose in
investigation; and hastily closing the trunk, Debby
thrust the papers and the bag down under the feathers
also — then rushed over the stairs.

“We may be only women and girls,” said grand-
mother, “but I guess we can outwit our tyrants. Here,
Debby, run with this, and turn up the furrow back of
the house with the spade, and drop it in. Mr. Barrett
has ploughed the ground up this morning, and sunk
the muskets and balls and other things. Stay, child,”
her busy hand dropped, and her strong face grew a
shade paler, ‘‘I forgot; there are some papers and
a bag of silver pieces in” —

“The old hair trunk in the garret?” interrupted
Debby. ‘‘T hid those in the barrel of feathers too,
along with the balls.”

‘Now bless you for a sharp-witted girl,” breathed
Grandmother Barrett thankfully. “Save the pewter
platter, then; we may need it for bullets yet. Run,
Debby, child. Oh, if we can but get through before
they come!”

None too soon. Just a breathing-space, and down
the Mill Road came the redcoats. Some were whis-
tling with the fun of the expedition, and laughing and

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chatting. It was a most informal raiding-party, in-
tent on two objects; and these were the destruction
of the military stores, and the capture of that rebel-
lious subject, Colonel James Barrett, to send over to
England.

On they came, right merrily, and swarmed over the
Barrett meadow and field and house-place, and pres-
ently they were within the old house.

Stephen, hurrying home, fell into their clutches,
and they dragged him into the kitchen. “You are
my prisoner,” thundered the emissary of King George,
the officer in command, as the soldiers hauled Stephen
into their midst. “I have orders to carry you to
England.”

“Those orders were for my husband, Colonel James
Barrett,” cried Grandmother Barrett spiritedly. ‘This
is my son Stephen. Touch not one hair of that young
man’s head, or his blood be upon you. You were
ordered to take Colonel James. Take him if you can
find him. Loose my son, and let him go this instant.”

“My orders are to take Colonel James Barrett at
all hazards,” said the officer in some confusion, fall-
ing back. “Take your hands off from the young
man’s person, but keep an eye to his movements,”
which the soldiers obeyed, their arms falling to their
sides sullenly.

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“Well, now, my men, to work! We’ve no time
to lose. Let the search begin. Thornton, see that
it is carried on thoroughly. Let nothing escape
you.”

This to a younger officer, a man about six or seven
and twenty, tall and slender, though firmly built, and
having a pair of keen dark eyes in his pale, re-
fined face. Debby, pressing up back of Mrs. Bar-
rett, with Miliscent, who had just run over, followed
the direction of his command. At last she saw him
face to face, where he could not escape her. It was
the peddler spy, the tempter of her father, the young
British officer come to finish his deadly work.

In spite of the peril of their position, —the swarm
of redcoats, grounding their muskets on the floor and
filling the house with their boisterous mirth, and only
Grandmother Barrett, the serving-woman, Miliscent,
and herself to defend the home, — Debby opened her
mouth to utter the torrent of denunciations that her
bosom could not contain.

In a twinkling the young officer said, “ Captain
Parsons, while you search without, my men shall go
above stairs; ” and with the word of command, before
Debby could utter one syllable, he and the squad fol-
lowing him had left the apartment.

“Are you mad, Debby?” said Miliscent in a whis-

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per, and seizing her arm. “I saw you; you could not
contain yourself.”

“Tt was he,” gasped Debby, her hand at her heart.
“The villain— the tempter—the British spy! Oh,
why did I not have a chance to let him see that the
Concord maiden is not afraid of him and his wicked-
ness?”

“You must not, you shall not attempt it again,”
cried Miliscent, as Captain Parsons was saying,
“Madam, do you expect us to be detained here in
this way? The stores are in this house, and it will
be vastly better for you to tell us where. You will
then be let off easily, and probably the order for the
capture of Colonel James will be revoked.”

“You will receive no help from me, sir,” replied
Mrs. Barrett spiritedly. ‘‘Not to save a life will
one of us lisp a syllable. And as for the capture
of Colonel James, take him if you can find him.
He is in God’s hands, and he will deliver him from
you.”

With a brace of round oaths the officer gave the
word, and the search began; and soon in the cellar,
the kitchen, the barn, and the sheds, the Regulars
were running in and out, in full spirit with the work,
and confident that each instant the coveted articles
would come to light.

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Stephen all this time was between two soldiers, to
prevent any interference on his part. He clinched
his fist, and was about to pitch in then and there;
but reflecting that such a movement on his part would
only bring destruction upon the house and its in-
mates, he gulped down his mortification and anger,
only mollified by the thought of the warning he had
carried to the minute-men of the neighboring towns,
who were now probably safe with their comrades at the
Old North Bridge.

“I’m going up to listen at the foot of the garret
stairs,” said Miliscent. ‘They are up there now ; I
hear them. We must save those things.”

Debby crept up after her, the beating of their young
hearts seeming to proclaim their approach.

“There’s a beggarly old Yankee trunk. Rip it
open with your sword.”

But the lid was thrown wide without that trouble,
as the girls, with bated breath, crouching at the foot
of the stairs, well knew.

“Ha! Grandfather’s precious papers, safe — and
the silver pieces safe; that is, so far.” A storm of
oaths followed the noise of that search.

“The old beds—a curse on these rascally rebels!
Where have they hid the stuff?” roared another voice.
“Tear open the beds! Confusion to them! We'll

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fire the house over their heads. Then the rats will
tell rather than roast.”

“Hold!” It was the voice of their commander.
“Behave like Englishmen and gentlemen in this
house, and respect the rights of others, or, by my
sword, you'll find it the worse for you. Ill run you
through.”

Debby held her breath in stunned silence.

“Oh, how good he is!” whispered Miliscent grate-
fully into her ear.

This stung her. ‘ Good/” she spurned the thought,
and turned on her with flashing eyes.

“Hush, hush!’”? implored Miliscent; ‘‘hear what
they are saying.”

“Rebels have no rights against our king,” one sol-
dier ventured to grumble out. The others stared at
his temerity.

“You have only your orders to obey,” said the offi-
cer sternly; ‘and they are to search this house
quietly, without violence or personal harm to the oc-
cupants. Another word from you, my man, and you
will find yourself in the guard-room on your return
to Boston.”

Milly raised her slender hands and her beautiful
dark eyes in thankfulness to heaven. Debby gripped
her with speechless passion.

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The garret had now become a scene of wild con-
fusion. The dragging of heavy articles about con-
tinued for some time, as the search went on. At last
oaths and angry exclamations of disappointment fol-
lowed.

“The barrel yonder of feathers!” screamed one
soldier at length, when all else had failed to disclose
the coveted stores.

Miliscent wound her arms around Debby, and the
two gazed in anguish in each other’s faces.

“There is no good to be obtained by our waiting
longer,” said the officer. “Go below, men!”

One soldier hung back, and rushed to the barrel,
thrusting his hand into the feathers.

“You fool you! plough up those feathers, will you,”
jeered the rest. “What do you expect to get there
for your pains?” sang out one man. “ Another goose,
perhaps, to match you.” A roar of laughter greeted
this sally, a rattle of bayonets on the floor in applause,
and a chorus of jeers, the victim of it all turning
back from the barrel with a red face and discomfited
manner.

“Fly, Debby,” warned Miliscent; “they are coming
down!”

Debby, torn with conflicting emotions, the upper-
most one being anger at Miliscent’s gratitude to the

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British officer, dashed after her, her blue stuff gown
catching on a long nail by the side of the doorway
leading up the attic stairs. She pulled at it to tear
herself free, but cloth was made honestly in those
days, and it would not yield. They were close upon
her; she was surrounded by armed men, the muskets
were at her head, the bayonets as well; and helpless
and alone, Miliscent, supposing herself followed by
Debby, having reached grandmother’s side by this
time, she was in the centre of a baffled crowd of
soldiery, whose angry eyes gave her no good reason
to expect any mercy.

As many of the men as were near him were thrust
aside impetuously. “Allow me,’’ said the young offi-
cer, as deferentially as though she were a great lady
and he her guest. And in an instant he had released
Debby’s gown, and with one quick movement, his
fingers closing on her arm, he had put her behind
him. It was impossible to describe Debby’s feel-
ings at the touch of his hated hand, so gentle and
deferential, yet with a grip that was like steel. She
trembled with passion.

“Ah!” she cried, “I would rather die than be
saved by you;” and she shook herself free, and
looked him full in the piercing eyes.

“The saucy rebel!” cried one of the soldiers,

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advancing on her. “You shall pay for this, girl,
and find out what it is to defy English authority,”
clamored another threateningly.

“Silence!” thundered their commander, drawing
his sword; “the maiden is sore distressed. Are you
men, with mothers and sisters, that you would add
to her suffering? March below!”

Debby essayed to speak; but the rattle of their
arms and their heavy tread, as they filed by her,
with flashing eyes and glances that boded no good,
drowned all her attempts. She was only conscious, as
the noise decreased, that the tall figure of the British
officer was before her, and that they were alone.

“May heaven forgive me for what I have done,”
he said in a low tone. “Miss Parlin, it could not
be undone. I must warn you now that your father
is here to-day with our men.”

She had no time to utter even a low cry of an-
guish, for his hand gripped her arm again. “ For-
give me,” he said, “but I cannot again hold back
my soldiers if they hear you. Your father was forced
to come. Do not turn against him. Believe me,
he will do no harm to his townsmen,” he added
significantly. ‘I will save you and your people
from every annoyance, and pray God we shall re-
turn quietly to Boston.”

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“And I,” said Debby deliberately, in a low, clear
voice, ‘‘pray God that I may die before sinking to
the shame of a rescue from the slayer of my father’s
honor.”

He drew back with a swift expression of suffer-
ing in his piercing dark eyes, bowed silently, and
motioned for her to proceed before him to the rooms
below. Debby swept off, holding her head high on
her slender neck, gained the “ muster-room,” swarm-
ing with soldiery, heard him say to Captain Par-
sons, ‘We could find nothing, although our search
has been exhaustive.”

“Hark ye!” exclaimed Captain Parsons sharply, as
Grandmother Barrett uttered a “ Heaven be praised!”
“your gratitude is short-lived. While we have pos-
session of the whole town, as we presently shall,
the matter of a few stores is of trifling importance.
Now give us something to eat,” looking into the
sullen and disappointed faces of his men, “for verily
we need it sorely.”

“Ves, give us something to eat,” they clamored.

“We are commanded to feed our enemies,’”’ said
Mrs. Barrett with dignity. So she gave orders to
Miliscent, to Debby, and to the serving-woman, to
set forth the doughnuts and the big pans of milk,
the boiled meat and the bread and ham and the

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pies, on the mahogany centre-table. “Draw up, and
eat your fill,” she said when all was ready, with
the air of a queen dispensing royal favors.

“Truly the old lady has grit in her,” observed
one soldier to his comrade, as they took their por-
tions of food to a quiet corner.

“T like those two pretty maidens, and I’ll have
a bout with them,” said the comrade who had re-
mained below stairs with Captain Parsons’s company,
and fixing his eyes on the two girls, obeying, but
with panting bosoms and flashing eyes, the commands
of grandmother to set the food on the table,

“Better not; I think that the flaxen hair and blue
eyes is the identical maiden we encountered at the
cottage some three miles from here, before we reached
the town.”

“The veriest nonsense!” exclaimed the other,
munching his bread and beef with a gusto; “that
little maid is saying her prayers with chattering teeth
in her home chimney. Fancy her running up here
into our muskets. Ha, ha, ha!”

“You may laugh if you like,” said the other dog-
gedly; “but I'll take my oath she is one and the
same. She’d have slain me with her eyes, and flown
at us tooth and nail, if we had not turned away and
left her poor miserable little house in safety. The

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temper of this one is just the same. Let these girls
alone, and stir them not up by any notice. Our
orders are not for such work.”

“Nevertheless, I shall try my luck with that fair

“and

rebel,” persisted the first soldier stubbornly,
get a word and a kiss.”

“ And your head cracked for your pains.” Another
comrade drew near. “You should have been up-
stairs with us to have seen Lieutenant Thornton.
Confusion to him; we were about to teach that same
saucy little rebel to respect the English army, but
he interposed.”

“Did he so?” cried the other men.

“And hark ye—we must move carefully with him
around,” dropping his voice; “he’s the devil and
all, as you know, when he’s roused.”

“The aristocrat!” grumbled the soldiers under
their breath, prefixing the title with an oath.

Captain Parsons was throwing some pieces of gold
into Dame Barrett’s lap. “We are not robbers; we
pay for what we eat,” he said.

“We take not the price of blood,” she replied with
spirit, tossing them back; but he left them where they
fell.

“Now collect the gun-carriages, and we will fire

them,” was his order,

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SEARCHING FOR THE STORES. 369

One of the sergeants interrupted. ‘We have hard
work before us, Captain; we must have some spirit
to drink. This house must hold a lot of the stuff,
or at least some cider; and this Yankee drink is
not bad, you know.”

“Not a drop!” commanded the captain sternly, and
drawing his sword. ‘“ Hard work we have before us,
ay, and bloody as well, before the sun goes down.
We will do it as Englishmen, and not as drunken
fools. Hark! the firing has commenced. March!
my men, and wipe out the rascally rebels!”

The scattered redcoats formed into glittering
ranks. Angry though they were at the failure to
secure the coveted stores, yet they preserved their
good temper at the prospect of the victory that should
lay the whole town in one conquest at their feet.
Military stores and everything else would, before
nightfall, be theirs. They could afford to bear little
annoyances now. ‘They beat a hasty retreat, the two
comrades who had discussed the charms of Debby
and Miliscent gave them a parting glance of admira-
tion, the audacious one kissing his fingers toward
Debby’s pretty face, despite her anger, which amused
him greatly.

The firing indeed had begun at the bridge, although
as the detachment left the house, and started on a

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370 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

quick step down the Barrett Mill Road, they did
not then know their destination, where they should
get into the battle they were so eager to help for-
ward.

Debby seized Miliscent with her strong young
hands, and drew her off to the little entry. Stephen
had rushed off the minute the soldiers turned their
backs, and was already half across the fields, on
his way to the conflict. Mrs. Barrett had sunk to
her knees in prayer, while the serving-woman was
pottering about the remnants of the food, with a
“ Lord have mercy on us, how those British do eat!”
and mumbling a spasmodic and scanty petition to
Heaven as the report of each volley at the bridge
smote her ear.

“T’ve got a gun, and I’m going!” cried Debby in
a hoarse tone. “Kiss me good-by, Miliscent, and —
and ” —

“You are mad!” cried Miliscent, her dark eyes di-
lating in terror. “You area girl. It is improper!”

“T shall go.” Debby’s spirit flashed high. “It is
no more improper than for us to make the cartridges.”

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THE “SHOT HEARD ROUND THE WORLD.” 371.

XXV.

THE “SHOT HEARD ROUND THE WORLD.”

EANTIME, during all this search for the mili-

tary stores at Colonel James Barrett’s, the
grenadiers and marines under Smith and Pitcairn
were alert and determined at the same work in the
centre of the old town. But the distress and priva-
tion and suffering the citizens had gone through with
had sharpened their wits, and the larger portion of
the nublic stores were now concealed in such places
where they were practically safe; the remainder must
be defended by the tact and the cleverness of the be-
sieged inhabitants. Despite all their efforts, however,
about sixty barrels of flour were burst open; the trun-
nions of three cannon were knocked off; carriage-
wheels were burned; and wooden trenchers and spoons,
and hundreds of pounds of balls, found a resting-place
in the millpond and the wells of the vicinity. The
flames overcoming the liberty pole on the hill had
been started, firing the hearts of the townspeople into
fresh anger, but not dismay, when a British officer

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372 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

stalked up to Captain Timothy Wheeler. “Open your
barn,” was the order, short and sharp. The barn was
opened by Captain Wheeler with a “Certainly, sir,”
that charmed by its ready acquiescence in the inevita-
ble; and there was a stock of Provincial flour, together
with some belonging to himself, now revealed to the
devastating hand of the enemy.

Captain Wheeler put his hand ona barrel. “Iam
a miller, sir. Yonder stands my mill. I get my liv-
ing by it. In the winter I grind a great deal of grain,
and get it ready for market in the spring. This is my
flour;” touching another barrel, “this is my wheat;”
and pointing to another cask, “this is my rye.”

“In that case,” said the officer with a longing
glance around, “I must leave it untouched. We do
not injure private property.”

The tumult was now great. The soldiers, maddened
by the pillage they had succeeded in effecting, but
more by what they had missed, rushed hither and
thither, without strict military discipline or order,
only intent on destroying as much of the public
property as possible. The Province treasurer, who
boarded during the sessions of Congress at the tavern
of Ephraim Jones, left in his care the chest contain-
ing money and important enclosures. At this time
Captain Jones was a prisoner, with five bayonets

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THE “SHOT HEARD ROUND THE WORLD.” 373

“fixed and pointing at him.’ But wanting some
refreshment at the bar, the guard of five soldiers
released him for this purpose, and then searched his
house, as were all houses searched, if the soldiery
were so disposed; and there they discovered the chest.
But Hannah Barns, a member of the family, spoke
up, “This is my room, and contains my property.”
They parleyed and bickered; but she stood her ground
sturdily, and forced them to retire.

“The court-house is on fire! Quick! the top of
the house is filled with powder; and if you do not put
the fire out, you will all be killed!” screamed Mrs.
Martha Moulton, who lived near, and who, with a
servant of Dr. Minott across the way, was endeavor-
ing to extinguish the flames. On this the British
soldiers in the vicinity turned to and gave them as-
sistance.

Into the houses rushed the soldiery, now hungry
and defiant. The whole town was in an uproar, and
swarmed with redcoats; while the defenceless citizens,
too old to fight, and the women and children, with the
able-bodied men who were set to guard the public
stores, were the sole defenders of the town.

Over at the South Bridge, meanwhile, Captain Mun-
dey Pole, of the Tenth British Regiment, and his
squad, set up a special search at the house of Eph-

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374. A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

raim Wood. His distinguished patriotism and his
public office in the town made him a shining mark,
and they hoped to secure him. But he was “engaged
in directing the important events of the day, and
assisting to remove the stores;” and thus, being from
home, he escaped. All this time the minute-men and
military companies from the adjoining towns were
assembling, until now there were in the neighborhood
of two hundred and fifty men.

Joseph Hosmer, acting adjutant, “formed the sol-
diers as they arrived, singly or in squads, the minute
companies on the right, and the militia on the left
facing the town.” He then, observing an unusual
smoke arising from the centre of the village, went to
the officers and citizens in consultation on the high
ground near by, and inquired earnestly, “Will you
let them burn the town down?” and they “resolved
to march into the middle of the town to defend their
homes, or die in the attempt, and at the same time
they resolved not to fire unless first fired upon.”

Colonel Barrett has given orders to march; Major
Buttrick has led the men in double file to the spot,
—the birthplace of liberty and the triumph of the
American cause; the Acton minute-men with Cap-
tain Davis at their head, and the Concord minute
company under Captain Brown, get into position in

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THE OLD NORTH BRIDGE.

King George’s troops stood where The Minute Man marks the
the monument was erected. position of the Provincials.

And the river rolled between.

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THE “SHOT HEARD ROUND THE WORLD.” 375

front; and the quiet river of peace slips gently by
at their feet.

Over on the east side, the rustic bridge between,
the British are tearing up the planks. Major But-
trick, in a loud tone, orders them to desist. A few
shots are discharged into the river, probably as

»

“alarm guns;” and then a single gun, in the hands
of a British soldier, speeds a ball that strikes Luther
Blanchard of the Acton company and Jonas Brown
of the Concord company, both minute-men. Now
follows a volley from the British. Isaac Davis and
Abner Hosmer, both of Acton, fall dead. Bravé
Major Buttrick leaps from the ground, and cries, —

“Fire, fellow-soldiers! for God’s sake, fire!” and
the embattled farmers, so long held back, respond
with “the shot heard round the world.”

It was at this instant, “between ten and eleven
o’clock,” that the thrée companies under Captain
Parsons were on the double-quick step from the
search for the military stores at Colonel James Bar-
rett’s, that Stephen was rushing across the fields,
and Debby was securing the “grand’ther’s musket”
she had taken pains to have ready against the time
of need. Oh, wonder of wonders! the British, leaving
their dead and wounded, are running by the bridge!
the scarlet uniforms in a mad confusion and rout,

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376 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

closely pursued by the embattled farmers with stern,
set faces, and firing as they go at the flying foe,
intent on getting over the great field to stop the en-
emy at Merriam’s Corner. All military order now is
broken up. Henceforth it is to be each man fighting
for freedom, and each man defending himself on the
retreat.

Debby, skirting the thicket at the foot of the Ridge,
and concealed by the thick growth of young pines and
scrub oak, unmindful of the heavy musket she carries,
looks about with watchful eyes. Ha! here runs a
hated redcoat, and then a squad of the flying enemy.
Now God defend her good right arm and give her
clear sight; but without warning the foremost man
turns suddenly, leaves the thoroughfare, and plunges
into the “heart of her covert,” disturbing her aim,
while the rest rush on. She pauses, her fingers
on the trigger. He has laid down his gun, and is
tearing off his coat to thrust it from him with mad
gesture, tossing out his long arms to heaven. She
shuts her eyes. ‘“O God! I cannot kill him thus de-

fenceless;”

and waits, praying for strength to do it
when he sees her, and it is an equal fight. He turns,
seizes his gun from the earth, and meets her eyes.
“ Father /” she screams.

“I haven’t fired a shot,” he said hoarsely. “I

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THE “SHOT HEARD ROUND THE WORLD.” 377

was in the thickest of the fight at the bridge; but
although I prayed to die, every ball passed me by.
Hinder me not; I am John Parlin of Concord Town
once more, and God give this gun power over the
tyrant.”

She was at his knees, sobbing and clasping them
with her arms. “O father, father!’’ she moaned,
“forgive me for the wicked thoughts against you.”

He lifted her from the damp spring mould. “Kiss
me, child,” he said solemnly, “and say, ‘Father, I
know you love your country now.”

She said the words after him between her tears,
and laid her head on his bosom, soothing his bronzed
cheek and hair with her hand.

“Put away your gun, Debby,” he said, “or give
it to some man to use upon the enemy.” He seemed
to guess at her reason for carrying it, and it brought
the hot blood to her cheek to see that he divined
it. “Your father will do your work now. One more
kiss now, daughter; for this day will be my last on
earth, something tells me, and it is better so.”

“Father!” she screamed after him, and fell sense-
less on the red coat he had spurned.

John Parlin strode over the Ridge his feet knew so
well; and deadly was every ball he sent at the flying
redcoats on the Old Bay Road beneath, harassed and

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spent, not knowing where, behind stone wall or tree,
in thicket or covert, the invisible enemy were in-
trenched. With feverish haste he pressed on, load-
ing and firing, and loading again, leaving all along
the thoroughfare the dead foe to mark his swift, un-
erring aim. He only paused a moment when he
reached his cottage, and raised his head to look at
it, half expecting to find it burned to the ground.
There it stood; but the memory of the happy days
passed within, and the wreck of the sweet confidence,
changed to bitterness and wrath, burned inta his
soul as he thought of his wife. “She will know
that I am true to my country now.” He did not
dare to trust himself to even look within the small-
paned window for the sight of her face for which
he longed, despite the abiding scorn and shame he
had seen there in many stolen visits in silent re-
morse, but plunged on to the fight beyond.

They were hotly at work when he came up at
Merriam’s Corner. The king’s troops, vainly en-
deavoring to keep together and retreat in gaod or-
der, became surrounded at this point, where the old
Bedford road ran into the main thoroughfare, by the
Provincials. These made a spirited attack, led on
by a tall, square-shouldered, sinewy minute-man, who
was in the thickest of the fray. At too short range

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THE “SHOT HEARD ROUND THE. WORLD.” 379

sometimes to use his trusty musket, he then em-
ployed his fists, that, like sledge-hammers, brought
down their man every time. His blue eyes shone;
and his hair, tossed back from his brow, disclosed a
long sabre cut that had trickled blood all down his
homespun clothes. But he knew it not, and felt
nothing but exultation running high in his veins,
as he endeavored to keep the British from massing
together to a successful resistance.

“That’s right. At it, Abner!” shouted John Par-
lin from the hilltop, and dashing down to his as-
sistance with a yell. The enemy, made desperate
by concealed foes, and thinking it the cry of a party
of re-enforcements, lost heart in the mad confusion of
the moment; and the bloody encounter that ensued,
in which the Provincials, surrounding them on all
sides, easily picked off their men, resulted in a com-
plete rout of the foe, in which not a farmer was
injured.

Abner, at that cry, glanced for a moment in its
direction, saw that it was Debby’s father, and dealt
his blow that felled the scarlet coat before him to
the dust, then gathered up his soul with a new glad-
ness as he fought on.

It was an awful struggle. The British moved off,
to be caught up by balls from invisible opponents,

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laid low in the dust, and trampled, perchance, by
mad, on-rushing feet. Into the very teeth of mus-
kets, run out over the stone walls, some plunged to
their death, as the farmers dashed ahead to wait for
the foe, hurrying on their retreat ; then the assail-
ants would dash ahead to repeat this process, till the
brilliant troops were sadly decimated, and reduced to
a straggling, chaotic company in flight for their lives.
Abner and John Parlin kept together, bound by more
than the common tie of love of country. It rejoiced
the stalwart young farmer to see that wherever the
danger was the greatest and the conflict the thick-
est, Debby’s father was there, his passionate face
upturned, his head bare, and in his shirt-sleeves,
fiercely waging such an onslaught that the redcoats,
at sight of him, ran in dismay. “When it is all
over,” flashed through Abner’s mind in the horrid
tumult, “if I live, how I can gladden Debby’s heart
by the recital, and how proud he will be;” for that
such invincible strength could be conquered seemed
past belief. The next instant a flashing sword de-
scended on the bare head before him. It was in the
hand of an officer, who came up unseen, as Parlin
was fighting the soldiers in front of him; and to Ab-
ner’s horrified vision it seemed to cleave the body
from crown to toe. The officer then turned, and ran

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THE “SHOT HEARD ROUND THE WORLD.” 381

to the woods. Abner dealt fury and destruction to
all in his path, and ran to kneel and take the poor
maimed head of Debby’s father upon his breast.

“Tell her and my wife’ —as he sighed his life out
against the young man’s heart, amid the tramp of
the departing enemy, leaving them alone on the
highway — “that 1” — and his eyes glazed.

“All shall be told,’”’ said Abner, careless of the
danger he was in as he knelt there. “For love of
country you die,” he added, as the breath left the
body. He dragged John Parlin gently to the road-
side, and broke off a branch of pine, covering with
it the poor, still face, bathed in blood; then he ran
off, mad to avenge Debby’s father.

Skulking behind every protecting bush and shrub
and tree and stone wall, ducking at every step, crept a
negro, alternately clasping his trembling black hands
and mumbling in fright, and raising a head where the
wool had whitened fast, to peer about the spot like
a frightened rabbit. It was at the foot of the Ridge,
and just a short remove from the Parlin cottage.
When Pompey saw where he was (for Pompey it was)
he breathed the first sigh of relief for many an hour.
“Golly, ef I can’t creep in yere and rest a bit; I’m
all tired to def; an’ Massa Abner he give me gun,
an’ tell me to fight, but I done los it long ago.”

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Pompey scratched his wool helplessly, unable to sat-
isfy himself why he hadn’t fought, or where the gun
was now. He only knew he had: been caught up, as
it were, on the tide of the rushing throng that had
swept him like a dark leaf on the swift current down
the Old Bay Road, until too scared to attempt a re-
turn, he only sought shelter till the hot conflict
should be over.

“Pompey,” said a voice he wanted least of any in
the world to hear. He instinctively ducked, and
clapped both black hands over his shins.

“Tt is I who am at your mercy now,” said he
who had been the peddler, now the young British
officer. He was lying prone upon the ground, at
such a short distance removed that the trembling
negro must have discovered him before but for the
panic into which he was plunged. “Take my gun,”
he tapped it with his long fingers, — how well Pompey
remembered those fingers, — ‘‘and, Pompey, take
good aim,’”’ as the darkey, shaking like a leaf, re-
ceived the weapon. “Look at me; you are to shoot
me through the head — through the head, remember.”

“Oh, golly, massa!” exclaimed Pompey, tumbling
back in terror; “I couldn’t go fer to murder you;”
the gun executing nimble movements in his quaking
fingers.

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THE “SHOT HEARD ROUND THE WORLD,” 383

“You will do the job if you do not exercise more
care, Pompey, and kill yourself as well,’’ observed
the young officer. “Now, listen. I am an enemy of
your country, whom it is not only lawful, but it
would be a praiseworthy action on your part, to kill.
I beseech you, therefore, Pompey, to despatch me
at once, I assure you I have no wish to live, and
would thank anybody for putting me out of exist-
ence,” he added bitterly.

“« Maybe you ain’t much hurt, massa,” said Pompey,
dropping the gun at a safe distance from the long
fingers, and still with a thought for his shins he
knelt down in a heap at the young officer’s side.

“Ah, Pompey, I am afraid not; ’tis but a trifle in
the side here. Never mind the blood; it needs
not to be quenched. Listen. I wronged you too.
Forgive every kick.”

Pompey’s shins quivered, and he wriggled them
under him. “I fergib ye, massa,” he said humbly.

“Can you remember a message, do you think?”
suddenly asked the young officer, with a piercing
gleam of his dark eyes.

“T specs I kin, ef ’tisn’t too long, massa,”

“ Say after me: Miss Parlin.”

“Ts that Miss Debby or her ma?” queried Pom
pey suddenly.

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“Miss Deborah, you black rascal. Don’t inter-
rupt; you are to say: Miss Parlin.”

“You are to say Miss Parlin,” repeated Pompey
like a parrot.

“No, no,” cried the young officer impatiently,
and trying to raise himself to his elbow.

“No, no,” said the negro, with violent efforts to do
it all just right this time.

The young officer sank back, his face growing
whiter, and closed his eyes.

“He goin’ to die fer shore,” groaned Pompey;
“then what become o’ dis darkey? Maybe de Brit-
ishers will tink I killed him. Wake up, massa, don’t
go an’ leave Pompey.”

He fairly shook the lithe figure, in his terror.

“Will you tell Miss Deborah Parlin that I never
fired a shot at her countrymen, and that I did what I
could to undo the wrong I had done? ’’ demanded the
young officer, suddenly opening his eyes, and dis-
missing all hopes of teaching the lesson by repetition.

“Golly, I will, massa,’’ promised Pompey, nearly
tumbling backward at the sudden resuscitation.

A rushing noise. Stragglers from the enemy, left
behind in the flight for safety, now plunged over the
road, some of them skirting their thicket. Not know-
ing who or what they were, but fearing the worst for

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THE “SHOT HEARD ROUND THE WORLD.” 385

the negro if discovered, the young officer quickly com-
manded him to fly into the denser covert.

Pompey’s teeth shook in their sockets. “Golly,
massa,” and his eyes showed little but their margins,
“dey’ll kill you fer shore! I’ll carry you into Miss
Debby’s.” And before Lieutenant Thornton could
utter a protest, fright lent such sudden strength that
the darkey lifted the young officer in his long arms,
pushed open the door with a desperate foot, no longer
trembling and uncertain, and laid him on the floor,
then softly closed the door and fled.

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XXVI.

WILL SHE BE A GREAT LADY IN THE COLONIES?

HEY found him when they brought Debby home.
When they saw his rank, they were for de-
spatching him then and there as one who bore a large
responsibility for the day’s deeds. But with the light
of her father’s recovered loyalty bathing her spirit,
Debby felt her repulsion slipping from her. It was
as if the horror of the time had given place to one of
solemn joy. She cried, “No, no; he saved my life; ”
and she rose from the old hair-cloth sofa where they
placed her, and went on wavering steps to the spot
where he lay.

“Keep her back,” commanded Thornton hoarsely,
his great dark eyes emitting dangerous fire; ‘‘it is
not for such as I that she should use her poor
strength.”

The farmers stood helplessly by, looking at Debby.

‘Nay, they must do my bidding,” she said with
a luminous smile; ‘‘and I shall stanch your wound
and dress it.’ She kneeled by his side. ‘You saved

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IN THE PARLIN COTTAGE,

“‘The farmers stood helplessly by, looking at Debby.”

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WILL SHE BE A GREAT LADY? 387

my life once, yes, twice; give me leave to save
yours.”

“Thanks be to God if you will let me die,” he
cried.

“No, we do not so with our enemies,” she said
gently, her hands moving swiftly over the wound;
and bidding a basin of water and a towel to be
brought her, she tenderly bathed the blood away till
the terror of it grew less.

“Oh, my golly, missee!”? and “O Heaven above
and Lord’ a’ mercy, you pretty dear!” cried both Mrs.
Butterfield and Pompey as they came noisily in. The
farmers, when they saw somebody come with help,
hurried off. Debby looked up gratefully. “How
good of you,” she breathed. “Now you can tell me
what to do for this poor man.”

Mrs. Butterfield, despite the strain of mercy in her
disposition, which was large, could not come up to
an expression of delight as she saw the redcoat.
When she found that he was a lieutenant of the
king’s troops, she sniffed out, “Well, I sh’d think
‘twas pretty poor taste to come in here, after all
you’ve done to us.”

“Madam, I can assure you it was against my will
that I came,” said Thornton dryly.

“T brung him,” said Pompey. “The pesky redcoats

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were coming down de road like debbils; an’ he tole
me to run an’ save myself, an’ I wasn’t goin’ to leabe
him.”

“The redcoats wouldn’t have hurt him,” said
Mother Butterfield grimly, and rolling up her sleeves
with an inflow of satisfaction impossible for such a
born nurse to conceal.

“J didn’t know whether ’twas all redcoats, an’ he
didn’t know but ’twas de minute folks,” grumbled
Pompey in a discomfited fashion. ‘‘Gracious, Mis’
Butterfield! ’twas one or turrer, an’ de Lord hissef
couldn’t tell; dey’s been so mixed up all day.”

‘‘Well, they ain’t mixed up any longer,” declared
Mother Butterfield with energy; ‘‘and we beat you,
young man, whoever you be,” nodding to him on the
floor.

“T thank the Lord you did,’’ he said, not taking
his eyes from Debby.

Mrs. Butterfield dropped everything, then trotted
to Debby. “The first thing to be done,” and she
lifted her like a child and carried her to the sofa,
“is to put you here. That man there has gone clean
crazy. Pompey an’ me will look after him.”

“Instead, you may say he has come to a clear
mind,” said Thornton addressing her, but still look-
ing at Debby. “Now, my good woman, I do not

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WILL SHE BE A GREAT LADY? 389

doubt that you are the best nurse in the world; but if
there is a physician in this village, I must see- him.
Pompey, run your fingers in this pocket.” He moved
as well as he could, even this effort making his
bloodless face whiter yet ; and Pompey obeying, though
with great awkwardness, at last succeeded in bring-
ing forth a wrought leather purse heavily bound with
silver. ‘‘Open it,” commanded the young lieutenant.

A shower of gold pieces fell to the old kitchen-floor.
Pompey’s eyes protruded. “Oh, golly, massa!” Mrs.
Butterfield endeavored to look indifferent, and as if
gold were nothing in her eyes; but the effort could
not be called a success. ‘Take two of those,” said
Thornton, “and go with all speed to the village, and
bring your physician here with some men and a
wagon.”

“There are dead and dying all around us,” said
Mrs. Butterfield sharply, at the thought of her nursing
faculty gone to waste; “and it ain’t likely that Dr.
Minott can leave ’em, ’specially when our own towns-
men will suffer by it.”

“Vou speak with sense, madam,” observed Thorn-
ton coolly, “nevertheless, Pompey has his orders.
See how quick you can be,” to the darkey, who closed
his broad thumb over the two pieces of gold, and hur-
ried off. ‘And now will you be good enough to feel

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in this other pocket for me, and get a pencil and a
small packet of papers you will find there?”

Mrs. Butterfield got down on her fat knees with a
long sigh; and suppressing many more, she finally
put the articles into the long fingers, taking special
note how exquisite were the skin and nails, in the
interval that consumed some time before she regained
her perpendicular.

The young British officer turned with great diffi-
culty on his side, and began to write, covering page
after page of the paper he took from the packet.

Debby motioned to the matron. “Put a pillow
under his head, and prop up his back, do, dear
Mrs. Butterfield.”

He shot her a grateful glance, although her speech
was low, and continued to write, even through Mrs,
Butterfield’s fussy manipulation of the pillows.

“Have the kindness, my dear madam,” he said,
folding up the paper, and putting it within the packet,
“to return these articles to my pocket. And if any-
thing should happen to me, remember to send the
packet to the address on its cover.” He looked at
Debby as he spoke.

“All shall be done as you wish,” she said.

And good Dr. Minott came, but not for the gold,
for he did not see it. Long before Pompey got to the

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WILL SHE BE A GREAT LADY? 391

town centre he had lost both pieces, through much
turning and returning of them in his thick, awkward
fingers. He scrabbled around for them in a fright
in the roadside thicket where they had fallen, and
at last, in a deadly terror that the young British
officer would die before he got back, he left them,
and fled precipitately to Dr. Minott’s, where he told
such a harrowing tale of need for his services that
the good doctor started at once in his gig, with the
darkey by his side,.for the Parlin cottage. He
came hohe too soon. Death and he had a battle,
fierce as any that was waged that day. In the end
the doctor was to win, though he knew it not that
night.

It was a soft, warm day in early June. Far in the
distance seemed now the day when —~

‘©On the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,
Here once th’ embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world,’? —

a shot that proclaimed Freedom to be born on Con-
cord plains, by the side of her river of peace.

The wild-flowers had gone long ago; the old robins
were flying about careless of their little families that
were taking care of themselves by this time; the

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earth was fragrant with its sweet increase. The sol-
dier-farmers, vigilant and wary with musket and
bayonet for any chance warning, were drilling with
renewed zeal; for their victory over the British troops
had made them a shining mark for fresh attacks,
and never, since that birthday of liberty on their
riverside, had they slept on guard. Bitter need
would be their portion, they realized, for many weary
months, and maybe years — sore the privation as the
war drew its length. And so they tilled and planted,
toiling, as never before, to sustain life, and the vic-
tory so hardly won.

Debby threw wide her window, and looked without.
The little birds sang to her their sweetest; she never
heeded, although her heart was at peace. Just above,
on the Ridge, lay her father at rest. Her mother and
herself would have it so, when the fathers of the town
begged that he might lie with those others, who had
served their day and generation well, in the old hill
burying-ground. For his sin had been more than
wiped out by his mighty valor on the day of crisis,
when he had been terrible for the enemy to look
upon, and his good strokes had helped to “hold the
town.”

“Nay,” said Mrs. Parlin, “let him be at home
now, where he longed to be. It is his right; and

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WILL SHE BE A GREAT LADY? 393

within sight of the cottage windows shall be his bed
of rest.”

And so they had brought him hither, after the great
victory — brought him from the roadside, all gashed
and gory; and nothing that could be done or said
for a hero was lacking as they laid him away in his
winding-sheet. And good Parson Emerson preached
the funeral sermon; and Miliscent and Perces and the
other mates of Debby planted the periwinkle above
the mound, and watered it with their tears, and
brought flowers, and tended the resting-place cease-
lessly. And Debby welcomed a glad and peaceful
joy stealing into every tired sense. And the mother
each day felt the way back to the recovered heart of
her young happy wifehood. Had she not John back
again, crowned a hero in the eyes of his townsmen,
and through with the strain and stress of life? He
was hers to worship now, and not do wrong to God
or man by so doing. And she could sit beside him
on the Ridge; and he knew all her heart, with no veil
or shadow between them. And each dawn was a
landmark on the way back to the strength she knew
would all be needed in the weary, terrible months
and years before her countrymen.

“John, I must live up to you, dear,” she would
whisper above the grave. “I will be strong so that

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394 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

I may help forward what you died to get, and not be
unworthy of your name.’

And the little birds, swaying in the pine branches
above her head, cooed and trilled, and made sweet
love to their mates.

The other grave on the Ridge was sweet, too, in the
cool shade of the benignant forest, under the flowers
that Miliscent and Debby planted with gentle hands
and pitying tears for the mother over the sea, who
had lovingly yearned for her boy to keep good and
true -and pure. Better perhaps was it that young
Herford should rest here safely, where he fell by the
hand of Septimius Felton on that day of conflict,
than for a longer life to be his, whose light-hearted,
boyish spirit was ill-fitted to cope with the sterner
issues of life.

And Mother Butterfield, to whom Dr. Minott had
consigned the sick British officer when he was able
to be moved to the Butterfield farm, was happy and
radiant. Added to the Concord victory, was it not
the cap-sheaf that she be installed chief nurse, where
all her faculties could have free play? And through
all his ravings, when the brain fever was at its height,
she was placid and benignant.

One day, however, she shut the door hastily. “If
Abner heard him now,” she said under her breath,

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WILL SHE BE A GREAT LADY? 395

“he might find it in his heart to reproach me for
bringing him back to life. Debby is but a girl, and
young, pretty things are won by gold. I would he
had kept to his British training, and his love to the
king, then she’d spurn him like the dust beneath her
feet. But now— oh, alack, alack!”

But Abner had heard, albeit she was now so care-
ful, though he gave no sign. And he kept his pa-
tient tongue quiet, and hid the tale he had refrained
from speaking to the girl, till she had chance to do
honor to her father without interruption, and to recover
her peaceful heart. When he brought, as hasten he
did with it that night after the battle, the grand story of
John Parlin’s death, he longed to fold her in his arms,
with a new story of the great love he bore her. But
all was confusion in the Parlin cottage, owing to the
presence of the stranger supposed to be dying; and he
could get no speech alone with Debby, and her great
eyes in the white little face seemed to implore him to
be let alone to find peace. So he read them. And
since that time he had tried to content himself with
doing for her what he could, and biding his time,
meaning soon to speak. And now—must it always
be a time of renunciation with him? he cried alone in
his agony in the forest, where he plunged after hear-
ing the ravings of the young British officer. First, oh,

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so long ago, —for he had loved Debby even a little
maid in pinafores, — he had given her up in his mind
to Jim and the other fellows of their set, who were
handsome and cleverer than he; and now, when at last
he had a right to show his heart, fate had thrown
among them this stranger. Good? yes, Abner knew
in his soul that the man was good and pure, and
willing to renounce what he saw was an unrighteous
cause. And last of all, for to Abner’s thinking this
would weigh more in Debby's mind than the gold,
this redcoat officer had been born and bred in an
English home of aristocracy, educated in a British
university, and had about him that nameless quality
that fascinates the world of men as well as of women.

“My flower! my Debby! the only woman in the
world! shall I speak now? The queen’s palace is
not too good for you. Poor fool am I!” He flung
his sinewy, brown arms to heaven, looked at them,
and laughed bitterly. “I would not speak now if
I knew she would look at me in pity, for she ought
to take what God has provided for her. It is her
right.”

On the ground, in the depth of the forest where he
had wandered, he flung himself on his face, for the
first time in his life allowing the hours to slip by
over his neglected work. When he came back to the

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WILL SHE BE A GREAT LADY? 397

farm he was the same quiet Abner, going in and out,
but with more helpful solicitude for Thornton’s recov-
ery than before.

“Poor boy! if he only knew,” sighed his mother;
and she racked her brain to get him his favorite
dishes to eat, and to show him all possible atten-
tions.

And sometimes, when the ravings were very bad,
they would have to send for Debby. And it was
Abner who went for her in the big green wagon. And
she would lay her cool, soft hand on the poor wasted
brow, and her tears would fall for the mother or sister
in the distant English home, who ought to be in her
place, and Abner would rush out to go all over again
with the agony and temptation he thought he had
conquered. And at last the fever turned; and now,
on this soft, warm day in early June, although the
young British officer had lingered, the time had ar-
rived when it was no longer seemly to do so.

There were footsteps without, slow, but decided.
Mrs. Parlin, with a peaceful smile beneath her white
cap, looked up from her spinning. When she saw
that it was Thornton (no one called him now “the
young British officer,” knowing well that the Ameri-
can cause had won him to its side), she smiled. It
was one of the strongest reasons for Abner’s belief

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that Providence willed it for Thornton’s love to pre-
vail with Debby, that her mother had long ago be-
stowed upon the young man that love and sympathy
that his heart craved. Good Mrs. Butterfield might
toil and slave, be up nights on the anxious watch,
potter over gruels and other helpful messes for day
and night in and out; but let Mrs. Parlin come into
the sick-room, and sit there in her white cap, her
hands folded in her lap, and smile at him, and say,
“You poor boy,” and Thornton, ungrateful wretch,
grimaced in Mother Butterfield’s face at the gruels
and the medicines, and lay serene and happy so long
as he could see Debby’s mother.

Why did she so? Ah, her John was a hero, en-
shrined in the heart of the town, and safe, forever at
rest. Perhaps, had it not been for the work of this
misguided young man, the glory of that eventful day
would have been less for the farmer-soldier, slow of
purpose and action. And the Englishman but did his
duty, he believed; and he was won to the American
cause by her Deborah. Should she not devote that
brilliant life and gold to the service of her suffering
countrymen? Debby might yet be a great lady in
the Colonies, and worthy her father’s name.

She smiled on Thornton, and bade him be seated.
He came close to the spinning-wheel, and held her

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WILL SHE BE A GREAT LADY? 399

with his intense eyes. ‘‘I have your permission
to speak?” he asked feverishly.

“Ves.” She knew he was weak and still sick,
and words should be few. “I will call Debby;” and
after she had done so she hastened to John’s grave,
glad that their daughter was to meet her sweet, vic-
torious womanhood.

It was the same room — the keeping-room — into
which he had been laid, and where Debby had knelt
to him, tending his wound, to which he had now
brought the heart that had so long been hers, to put
it at her feet. She stood before him, her clear
blue eyes raised to his, and her sweet face still pale.
But the mouth was firm in its curves.

“Tam glad you are better,” she said gently. “Do
not stand; you are still weak.”

“Instead, I would kneel at your feet from hence-
forth,” he said feebly. “Miss Parlin, I need not
many words to tell you why I come to you to-day.
My ravings have spoken my heart; good Mrs. Butter-
field has confessed it.”

She put up her brown hand, thin and shapely, but
his great will mastered her to silence.

“No; I must speak. For my crime against your
father’? —

“Speak not of that,” she interrupted him; “our

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400 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

hearts are at rest. And I have a crime against you,
nay, many, that I wish you to forgive.” The kerchief
on her bosom rose and fell with her quick breath-
ing. “TI was unjust and cruel when you did what
you thought your duty, and I would that you forgave
me.”

He could not speak, yet he would not so much as
trust himself to touch her hand. His iron will must
master every impulse until his tale of love had been
told.

“Ah, you cannot forgive me!” said Debby sadly.

He turned on her then, and burst forth, his plans of
speech all scattered, ‘Cannot forgive?” his great
eyes burned into hers with a devotion that stirred her
very heart and soul to its depths, his thin white face
worked with the passion that knows not the need of
words. “Deborah, come to me, if you can. Have
pity, and come.” He flung wide his arms. “ All—
all I have and am is yours, and the Cause you love.”

One instant, — not hesitation for the fame and the
gold, the brilliant career of a leading lady in the
Colonies, nor the pride of the handsome scion of an
old English family won to her and to her cause,
but only to consult her woman’s heart how gently to
strike the blow.

“T will throw myself on your mercy,” her lips

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WILL SHE BE A GREAT LADY? 401

were tremulous now, “so that you may see that God
will not let me take your love. My heart has been
another’s for long, long years; and oh! have pity
on me, for I am like you,—he loves me not.’’ She
stood there, in her womanly shame, the pink glow
over her face, her appealing eyes raised to his face.

He had time to gather himself up; and he cried
hoarsely, “Now may God have mercy on me, and help
me to do his will.’”’ He reverently bent and touched
her brow with his lips.

The next day he sailed from Boston Harbor. Close
to his heart lay the writing on the packet, in which he
had transferred, in case of his expected death, his
English estate to the little Maid of Concord Town,
to be recorded in proper shape as soon as his foot
touched his native soil. No wife nor children should
be his, he had sworn in his empty heart; and the
struggling Colonies that she had lived for, ay, was
living for yet, should some time be the richer for his
sojourn among them.

The grave on the Ridge was soft in the moonlight.
Debby laid her heated face against it. “Father,” she
mourned, “comfort my mother for her sore disappoint-
ment. I cannot bear to look in her eyes. O Abner!”

It was as if she called him, yet she had spoken
never a word; for there he stood, as she raised her

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402 A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN.

head, standing on the other side of the grave, tall
and still.

Debby sprang to her feet. “Abner!” she gasped,
laying her hand on her beating heart, “when did you
come?”

He did not seem to hear. He only stretched his
hands out to her. And the little Maid of Concord
Town went within them, and laid her head upon his
breast.

“His parting words to me were, ‘She loves you,’”
he said at last, when words began to be spoken be-
tween them. “O Debby! what have you given up for
me?”

She drew away a bit to look into his steady brown
eyes, —

“Instead, I have gained all, for my heart came to
life in Concord Town, Abner,’’ she said, her blue eyes
shining into his.

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APPENDIX.
I.

THE framed manuscript copy of this letter, to which the
scissors are appended, hangs in the Public Library at Con-
cord.

Bronxvi.ieg, N. Y., March 24, 1875.
CHARLES THOMPSON, Esa. ;

Dear Sir, — About one hundred and one years ago, Dr. War-
ren sent a young man, his nephew by marriage, Joseph Swain, son
of Rev. Joseph Swain, of Wenham, to Concord, to take charge of
the rebel armory. After repairing the guns generally in use, he
attempted to make some new ones. For this purpose he returned
to Salem, to the edge-tool factory of Mrs. Proctor, where he had
previously had charge, and secured such tools as were to be had;
and among them this anvil, which I now, through you, present
to the town of Concord. On this anvil the first gun-barrel was
welded in Concord.

Colonel James Barrett and his son James had, during the French
war, furnished, through the commissary department in Boston,
oatmeal and some other provisions. This continued on until near
1774. It was a common occurrence for a young staff officer to
come to Concord on this business, and, while waiting a reply,
would amuse himself by talking loyalty with James Barrett’s
oldest daughter, Meliscent, to hear her rebel replies. He asked
her what they would do if it should become necessary for the
Colonies to resist, as there was not a person who even knew how

403

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404 APPENDIX.

to make cartridges. She replied that they would use their powder-
horns and bullets, just as they shot bears. ‘‘That,’’ says the
young man, ‘‘ would be too barbarous; give me a piece of pine,
and I will show you how.’’ After whittling the stick to the
proper form, he took these scissors, which I now present to the
town of Concord, and cut the paper for the pattern cartridge.
The sequel shows how apt a scholar she was, for all the cart-
ridges were made under her superintendence by the young ladies
of Concord; her only male assistant was her younger brother, the
late Major James Barrett, who drove the last load of cartridges
from the house after the British came in sight on the 19th of April,
1775. After the war, Joseph Swain returned to Concord, and
married Meliscent Barrett, and took these relics to Halifax, Vt.,
where I came in possession of them.
Yours,
James P. Swain.

 

MELISCENT BARRETT’S SCISSORS.
(Now in the Public Library, Concord.)

Nore.— The name “ Miliscent” is spelled in various ways in differ-
ent documents and genealogical records. The author has chosen the one
given above. ‘“ Meriam” was the old way of spelling this family name,
now written “ Merriam.”

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APPENDIX. 405

Il.

A List oF Books that, with many others, formed the
historic basis for this volume.

The Town Records.

flistory of the Town of Concord, by LEMUEL SHATTUCK.

Concord in the Colonial Period, by CHARLES H. WaALcOTT.

fTfistory of the Fight at Concord on the 19th April, 1775, by REv.
Ezra Ripiey, D.D.

Story of a Concord Farm, by REV. GRINDALL REYNOLDS. D.D.

The Centennial of the Social Circle in Concord, March 21, 1882.

Memoirs of the Social Circle in Concord. Second Series, from
1795 to 1840.

Traditions and Reminiscences of Concord, Mass., by EDWARD
JARVIS.

Concord Fight, April 19th, 1775, by Rev. GRINDALL REy-
NOLbDs, D.D.

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THE

FAMOUS PEPPER BOOKS

By MARGARET SIDNEY
IN ORDER OF PUBLICATION

 

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An amusing and sympathetic study of a New England
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WHEN GRANDMAMMA
WAS FOURTEEN

By MARION HARLAND

WITH FOUR FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS AND NUMEROUS PICTURES
IN THE TEXT PRICE $1.25

Later adventures of the heroine of
“WHEN GRANDMAMMA WAS NEW."

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Through the eyes of fourteen-year-old Molly Burwell, the reader
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The Story of a Virginia Girlhood in the Forties
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AT ALL BOOKSELLERS, OR SENT POSTPAID ON RECEIPT
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