ason was so advanced that along the roadside was the waving grass of summer.
Over the same route, in the afternoon, as far as the square, came three hundred men from Salem.
They turned down the Charlestown road where, as they reached the top of Winter hill at the edge of early evening, they witnessed the running fight upon the exhausted British.
To these Minute Men from other towns, as they passed the house from which her husband, the Rev. Edward Brooks, had ridden off in the morning, Abagail Brooks served chocolate—chocolate, but no tea. It was at this house, too, where that militant man of God extended Christian hospitality to a wounded enemy, Lieutenant Gould of the King's Own, wounded at Concord, and while proceeding in a borrowed chaise, captured by the old men of Menotomy.
In Medford, he wrote, I am now treated with the greatest humanity and taken all possible care of.
These, we may imagine, were but instances of the hospitality dispensed by the good wives of Medford, both a