“I am not a bird, your Honor.”
“Yes, Dennis, you are. Fly!” That word was the order now.
Then the Governor talked with the Committee of Safety in the back store until midnight.
The candles went out, and the men slept there.
The nine regiments of three hundred and fifty men each were raised.
Men were few in old Windham County now. “Gone to the war,” answered many inquiries.
The women led the teams to the field; the old men, old women, and the boys went to the husk-heap and husked corn. The boys learned to use the threshing flails and winnowing sieves in the barns with open doors.
The young and old filled the potato bins in the cellar and stored the apples there. They banked the houses with thatch.
Governor Trumbull was now at the full age when the vital powers ripen, and when many men begin to abate their activities. But he seemed to forget his age; he was never so active as now.