"And what did they say?" asked Gracie.
"That they would; the whole vast assembly speaking as with one voice."
"I hope Mr. Roch was there to hear them," said Lulu.
"No," said her father. "The governor was at his country-house, a few miles out of Boston, and Mr. Roch had been sent to him to ask a permit for his vessel to leave the harbour.
"He returned late in the afternoon, before the meeting at the Old South had broken up, and reported to them that the governor refused a permit until a clearance should be shown him; and the collector refused that until the tea should be landed."
"What a fuss about nothing!" exclaimed little Elsie, with a look of disgust.
"Oh, no," her father said, stroking her hair as she leaned upon his knee; "some day when my little girl is older and wiser, she will understand that it was very far from being about nothing.
"The people were very much excited. It was beginning to grow dark in the old church and somebody called for candles; but just then somebody in the gallery showed himself disguised like a Mohawk Indian, raised the Indian war-whoop, and was answered in the same fashion by some one outside the building,—for the throng a good deal more than filled the church; then another voice in the gallery shouted, 'Boston harbour a teapot to-night! Hurrah for Griffin's Wharf!'
"At that there was an instant motion to adjourn, and the people crowded into the streets.