“There’s no knowing when I shall be back, mother, for if the war has begun, as I fear it has, I shall be in the ranks till the last redcoat is driven from the country.”
“I know it, Roger. Your father would have done just what you are doing. I know you’ll do your duty. You won’t show the white feather. Here’s some lunch for you,” she said, putting a package into his knapsack.
“Good-by.”
ROBERT MUNROE’S HOUSE
Joseph Comee, a minute-man, was wounded at the doorway
Her arms were about his neck; tears were on her cheeks as she kissed his lips.
He ran across the meadow to the village. The minute-men and militia were gathering. In the stillness of the morning they could hear the report of guns far away, and knew that they of Sudbury and Acton were hearing the alarm. People were hurrying to and fro in the village, loading barrels of flour into carts, removing the supplies purchased by the Committee of Safety. Reverend Mr. Emerson was there with his gun and powder-horn. Many times Roger had listened to his preaching. It was gratifying to see him ready to stand in the ranks with his parishioners. He told the women not to be frightened, and smiled upon the boys who took off their hats, and the girls who courtesied to him.