that no
one might worry about him, he had taken the precaution to intrust his
secret to a neighbor lad to tell at the home-door in the light of
early day.

The journey was long, too long to write of here. Suffice it to say,
that on Sunday morning Blue-Eyed Boy reached the ferry at the Hudson
river. The old ferryman hesitated to cross with the lad.

"Wait at my house until the cool of the evening," he urged.

But Blue-Eyed Boy said, "No, I must cross this morning, and my pony:
I'll pay for two if you'll take me."

The ferryman crossed the river with the boy, who, on the other side,
inquired his way to the headquarters of the general.

Warm, tired, hungry, and dusty, he urged his pony forward to the
place, only to find that he whom he sought had gone to divine service
at St. Paul's church.

Blue-Eyed Boy rode to St. Paul's. In the Fields (now City Hall Park)
he tied his faithful horse, and went his way to the church.

Gently and with reverent mien, he entered the open door, and listened
to the closing words of the sermon. At length the service was over and
the congregation turned toward the entrance where stood the young
traveler, his heart beating with exultant pride at the glorious news
he had to tell to the glorious commander.

How grand the General looked to the boy, as, with stately step, he
trod slowly the church aisle accompanied by his officers.

Now he was come to the vestibule. It was Blue-Eyed Boy's chance at
last. The great, dancing, gleeful eyes, that have outlived in fame the
very name of the lad, were fixed on Washington, as he stepped forward
to accost him.

"Out of the way!" exclaimed a guard, and thrust him aside.

"I _will_ speak! General Washington!" screamed Blue-Eyed Boy, in
sudden excitement. The idea of anybody who had seen, even through a
key-hole, the signing of the Declaration of Independence, being thrust
aside thus!

General Washington stayed his steps and ordered, "Let the lad come to
me."

"I've good news for you," said the youth.

"What news?"

Officers stood around--even the congregation paused, having heard the
cry.

"It's for you alone, General Washington."

The lad's eyes were ablaze now. All the light of Philadelphia's late
illuminations burned in them. General Washington bade the youth follow
him.

"But my pony is tied yonder," said he, "and he's hungry and tired too.
I can't leave him."

"Come hither, then," and the Commander-in-chief withdrew with the lad