of cows owned by Mr.
Thomas Porter and driven by his son Ethel, a lad of fourteen, and
Ethel's sister Polly, aged twelve years.

"It's awful hot to-day!" said Ethel, as he threw himself on the grass
at the hill-top--the cows having been duly cared for.

[Illustration: The Old Porter House]

"You'd better not lose time lying here," said Polly. "There's
altogether too much going on uptown to-day, and there's lots to do
before we go up to celebrate."

"One thing at a time," replied Ethel, "and this is my time to rest. I
never knew a hill to grow so much in one night before."

"Well! you can rest, but I'm going to find out what that fellow is
riding his poor horse so fast for this hot morning--somebody must be
dying! Just see that line of dust a mile away!" and Polly started down
Great Hill to meet the rider.

The horseman stayed his horse at Fulling Mill Brook to give him a
drink, and Polly reached the brook just at the instant the horse
buried his nose in the cool stream.

"Do you live near here?" questioned the rider.

"My father, Mr. Thomas Porter, keeps the inn yonder," said Polly.

"I can't stop," said the horseman, "though I've ridden from New Haven
without breakfast, and I must get up to the Center; but you tell your
father the _British_ are landing at West Haven. They have more that
forty vessels! The new president was on the tower of the College when
I came by, watching with his spy-glass, and he shouted down that he
could see them, landing."

At that instant, Ethel reached the brook. "What's going on?" he
questioned.

"You're a likely looking boy--you'll do!" said the horseman, with a
glance at Ethel, cutting off at the same instant the draught his horse
was enjoying, by a sudden pull at the bridle lines. "You go tell the
news! Get out the militia! Don't lose a minute."

"What news? What for?" asked Ethel, but the rider was flying onward.

"A pretty time we'll have celebrating to-day," said Polly, to herself,
dipping the corner of her apron into the brook and wiping her heated
face with it, as she hurried to the house. Meanwhile, her brother was
running and shouting after the man who had ridden off in such haste.

As Polly entered the house the big brick oven stood wide open, and it
was filled to the door with a roaring fire. On the long table stood
loaves of bread almost ready for the oven. Her sister Sybil was
putting apple pies on the same table. Sybil was a beautiful girl of
twenty years, mu