no bounds.
In his frantic endeavors to burst the fastenings of the wooden
buttons, rheumatic cramps seized him and carried the day, leaving him
out of the battle.

Meanwhile, a company of soldiers clustered about the door. The king's
horses were fed within five feet of the great brass knocker,
while, within the house, the beautiful little old woman, in her
Sunday-best-raiment, tried to do the dismal honors of the day to the
foes of her country. Watching her, one would have thought she was
entertaining heroes returned from the achievement of valiant
deeds, whereas, in her own heart, she knew full well that she was
giving a little, to save much.

Nothing could exceed the seeming alacrity with which she fetched water
from the well for the officers: and, when Major Pitcairn gallantly
ordered his men to do the service, the little soul was in alarm; she
was so afraid that "somehow, in some way or another, the blue stocking
would get hitched on to the bucket." She knew that she must to its
rescue, and so she bravely acknowledged herself to have taken a vow
(when, she did not say), to draw all the water that was taken from
that well.

"A remnant of witchcraft!" remarked a soldier within hearing.

"Do I look like a witch?" she demanded.

"If you do," replied Major Pitcairn, "I admire New England witches,
and never would condemn one to be hung, or burned, or--smothered."

Martha Moulton never wore so brilliant a color on her aged cheeks as
at that moment. She felt bitter shame at the ruse she had attempted,
but silver spoons were precious, and, to escape the smile that went
around at Major Pitcairn's words, she was only too glad to go again to
the well and dip slowly the high, over-hanging sweep into the cool,
clear, dark depth below.

During this time the cold, frosty morning spent itself into the
brilliant, shining noon.

You know what happened at Concord on that 19th of April in the year
1775. You have been told the story--how the men of Acton met and
resisted the king's troops at the old North Bridge; how brave Captain
Davis and minute-man Hosmer fell; how the sound of their falling
struck down to the very heart of mother earth, and caused her to send
forth her brave sons to cry "Liberty, or Death!"

And the rest of the story; the sixty or more barrels of flour that the
king's troops found and struck the heads from, leaving the flour in
condition to be gathered again at nightfall, the arms and powder that
they de