Medford Historical Society Papers, Volume 30.

Nancy. What a day! 'Tis the first time I've sat down since cock-crow.

Mercy. Came the messenger at cock-crow, Nancy? Alack, I fear me I was still asleep!

Nancy. Cock-crow? 'Twas not so very long after the stroke of midnight. I heard the thud of galloping hoofs, dogs barking at Cousin Caleb's, then all the men of the family rushing up and down the road. Didn't you hear that?

Mercy. Oh, Gemini! I must have slept right through it all. First I knew, Aunt Abigail was out in the road calling to us to come over and help with the chocolate.

Nancy. Oh, fie, simpleton! That was hours later. Didn't you hear father and Uncle Edward waking the boys? Didn't you hear old Pompey catching Dolly and Whiteface out in the pasture? Nor father riding for dear life up the road to Symmes corner to spread the alarm and join the Reading company?

Mercy. Not a sound did I hear! Oh, tell on, tell on! What happened then?

Nancy. And then, in the pale light just before dawning, came minutemen, streaming along the high road toward Menotomy—little bands of them all running, squads a-marching, all breathless with haste and excitement.

Mercy. And then, and then?

Nancy. Then, later, the men from miles away, hurrying, hurrying—for hours they'd had no food but still they hurried on! And trailing them, more weary still, came little groups of two or three together—

Mercy. And then Aunt Abigail bethought her of the chocolate.

Nancy. The chocolate, and us to serve the hungry ones. And here we be, still faithful to our duty.

Mercy. Good sooth, it has been stirring! The most exciting day of all my life. I do adore minutemen!

Nancy. But in such odd array? Shirt-sleeves, no uniforms, panting, unshorn, no hats, hair flying in the wind?

Mercy. Did Uncle Edward look like that when he set forth this morning?

Nancy. Nay, nay! In truth he looked the gentleman he is, ana 'twere he went to meeting, except for the musket slung across his shoulder. He rode our own gray mare, had on his very best full-bottomed wig, if you'll believe it, the one he wears whene'er he fills the pulpit for good old Parson Turrell in the new church. He galloped off like mad, trying to overtake Cousin Caleb and the Medford minutemen. (Abigail appears in the doorway.)

Abigail. . . Plenty of chocolate still in the pot, girls?

Nancy. Not very much, though we have thinned it out with milk. That last leisurely lad was naught but a bottomless pit.

Mercy. And now, Aunt Abigail, the excitement's all over.

Abigail. You know they may be coming home—

” most any minute now—tired and hungry.

Nancy. And our supplies near gone!

Abigail. We must have more.

Mercy. Shall I run over home? Perchance mother can spare us yet another loaf from yesterday's baking.

Abigail. Yes, child, run. And if there be a horse still left, have Pomp