All the houses that were standing then are very old-fashioned now, but there was one dwelling-place on Concord Common that was old-fashioned even then! It was the abode of Martha Moulton and "Uncle John." Just who "Uncle John" was, is not now known, but he was probably Martha Moulton's uncle. The uncle, it appears by record, was eighty-five years old, while the niece was ONLY three-score and eleven.

Once and again that morning, a friendly hand had pulled the latch-string at Martha Moulton's kitchen entrance and offered to convey herself and treasures away, but to either proffer, she had said: "No, I must stay until Uncle John gets the cricks out of his back if all the British soldiers in the land march into town."

At last, came Joe Devins, a lad of fifteen years—Joe's two astonished eyes peered for a moment into Martha Moulton's kitchen, and then eyes and owner dashed into the room, to learn, what the sight he there saw, could mean.

"What are you doing?" Joe exclaimed.

"I'm getting Uncle John his breakfast to be sure, Joe," Martha answered. "Have you seen so many sights this morning that you don't know breakfast when you see it? Have a care there, for hot fat WILL burn," as she deftly poured the contents of a pan, fresh from the fire, into a dish.

Hungry Joe had been astir since the first drum had beat to arms at two of the clock. He gave one glance at the boiling cream and the slices of crisp pork swimming in it, as he gasped forth the words, "Getting breakfast in Concord THIS morning! MOTHER MOULTON, you MUST be crazy."

"So they tell me," she said serenely. "There comes Uncle John!" she added, as the clatter of a staff on the stone steps of the stairway outrang, for an instant, the cries of hurrying and confusion that filled the air of the street.

"Don't you know," Joe went on to say, "that every single woman and child have been carried off, where the Britishers won't find 'em?"

"I don't believe the king's troops have stirred out of Boston," Martha replied. 

"You won't have to wait long. THAT SIGNAL is for the minute men. They are going to march out to meet the Red-coats. I wish I was a minute man this minute."

Meanwhile, poor Uncle John was getting down the steps of the stairway, with many a grimace and groan. As he touched the floor, Joe, face beaming with excitement and enthusiasm, sprang 

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