“Ben,” exclaimed he, “you’re the greatest fellow I ever knew! You always think your share of the work the easiest, no matter what it is. If General Ward had an army of fellows like you before Boston, Gage would not be able to hold the town for a week.”

Far away, against the horizon line, a spire arose from amidst a clump of dwellings.

“I will meet you there as soon after dark as I can,” continued Ezra, his outstretched finger indicating the tower. “If there is an inn wait for me there.”

After a few words more, Ezra urged the reluctant bay into the much cut wagon road; Ben, upon the soft-stepping roan, went loping easily down the highroad, his usually laughing face grave as became a rider with an urgent mission to perform.

Ezra Prentiss after a time dismounted and led his steed by the bridle.

“Mr. Paul Revere used to say a horse well looked after always finished earlier in the day,” said he to himself with a smile. “And I guess it’s true. At any rate, old fellow,” to the bay, “the going is too hard for a rider here; so I’ll try walking for a little, anyway.”

In a field he saw two men working with teams of oxen. He waited at a fence corner until one of them had completed his furrow.

“Good-day, neighbor,” called the boy.

“Good-day,” returned the farmer.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and approached Ezra, glad of an excuse for a moment’s rest from his toil.

“Riding from Boston way?” he inquired eagerly.

“I left Cambridge a few days ago,” replied Ezra.

As he spoke the lad drew out one of the sheets from his saddle pocket and unfolded it. It was covered with an announcement in heavy, bold-faced type.

“This,” said the boy, “is issued by the Massachusetts Committee of Safety, and riders have been sent out in every direction to deliver them to the towns and people round-about.”

The farmer took the circular and began an earnest study of its appeal. The other man, seeing that something unusual was going forward, halted his team and also approached. Leaning 

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