“It is a pretty hot morning, and the sun is powerful on the hill, father,” said Mrs. Mehitable Porter in reply—not seeing Polly, who stood panting and glowing with all the importance of having great news to tell.
“Father,” cried Polly, “where is Truman and the men? Send ’em! send ’em everywhere!”
“What’s the matter? what’s the matter, child?” exclaimed Mr. Porter, while his wife and Sybil stood in alarm.
At that instant Ethel sprang in, crying out, “The militia! The militia! They want the militia.”
“What for, and who wants the men?” asked his father.
“I don’t know. He didn’t stop to tell. He said: ‘Get out the militia! Don’t lose a minute!’ and then rode on.”
“Father, I know,” said Polly. “He told me. The British ships, more than forty of them, are landing soldiers at New Haven. President Stiles saw them at daybreak from the college tower with his spy-glass.”
Before Polly had ceased to speak, Ethel was off. Within the next ten minutes six horses had set forth from the Porter house—each rider for a special destination.
“I’ll give the alarm to the Hopkinses,” cried back Polly from her pony, as she disappeared in the direction of Hopkins Hill.