At the announcement of Ezra, his companions gazed at him in surprise.

“What Mr. Revere said upon the stairs as we were going to bed,” said the young New Englander, “made quite an impression upon me. So I had not been buried in the four-poster long before I found that I could not sleep so long as the message was where it was. So I got up, removed it from the bag and put it under my mattress.”

Revere was much gratified at this.

“Now,” said he, “that was wisdom. And I am glad that any words of mine saved you from such a loss. Always be as careful—you will find that it adds to your peace of mind.”

But Nat Brewster was puzzled, and the look which he directed at the dwarf showed that that personage was in the same state of mind. However, he was in no condition to grapple with perplexities, so he put the thing from him for the time. His head was bandaged and before long they got back to bed once more.

Next morning the wounded boy had a severe headache; but toward noon it wore away and he thought himself fit to travel.

“But,” said he, decidedly, to Revere, when announcing his intentions, “we’re going to be a party of five from now on.”

“I expected that,” said the other. “Ben’s been telling me about that little imp that he calls the Porcupine, and how he rendered you services of some sort upon other occasions beside that of last night.” Then after a pause: “So you think of taking him along?”

“Yes,” replied Nat. “If I can get him a horse it would be much better; but if not, I’ll carry him on mine, as he’s no great weight.”

“I’ll see what can be done,” said Revere. “Horse flesh ought to be plenty in these parts; and that means that it should be cheap.”

The result was that Nat paid out about all the money he had for an angular, swift little bay horse, along with which came a worn saddle and bridle. The Porcupine received these evidences of favor with great delight.

“Maybe,” said he to Nat, “I’ll be a lot of trouble on the road, but I’ll try not to be. And then,” with his usual grin, “I may be useful again in some way; for as you know I’m a pretty handy sort to have around on the outside.”

They reached Trenton after dark that night and by the next were well into the north Jerseys. They slept one night in New York, then crossed the little colonies of Rhode Island and Connecticut into Massachusetts; and at the end of eight days, were arrived safe at Boston.

“And now,” said Revere, as they paused in Marlborough Street, near the Old South Meeting House, “I must leave you for a time. Before I sleep this night the members of the convention must be notified that the Continental Congress has acted, so that they may assemble to-morrow to receive its formal resolutions.” He shook hands with Nat, Ben and the Porcupine. “I shall see you again before you leave the city, no doubt; if not, good-bye.”

As Revere left them, Ezra said:

“It would be as well that I should deliver my letter to Dr. Warren, also. Misadventures on the road have taught me that a messenger is never safe until his errand is done.”

They turned their horses’ heads in the direction of Hanover Street, where the great patriot lived; and in a little while, leaving their horses in care of the Porcupine, they were shown into the library, where Dr. Warren received them. That he was all eagerness to read the communication from Mr. Adams was evident, but first he greeted Ben and Nat, bidding them welcome and directing a servant to prepare supper for them at once. When he had seen them comfortable and inquired eagerly after the cause in Philadelphia, he said:

“And now you’ll pardon me, I know. Mr. Adams is sure to have matters of moment to write of.”

And so, while the lads watched him, he broke the seals and carefully read the message. By the way his face lit up they knew that the news was good, and that the future had a brighter prospect than the present. When he had finished, he carefully tore the paper into fragments.

“You see,” said he to the boys, laughing, “it is not well for a marked man, such as I, to have papers about him that will tell so much. Almost at any time Gage is likely to take courage and swoop down upon me with a file of men.”

“And how are things in Boston, sir?” asked Ezra.

An anxious look came into the doctor’s fine, worn face. But, for all, there was hope in it also.

“Bad enough,” he answered. “But the people hold out wonderfully. The Port Bill has them upon the verge of starvation; those of us who were rich are now poor—those who were poor are now beggars.”

“Then the law is enforced strictly?” said Nat Brewster.

The doctor laughed bitterly.

“Strictly enough,” said he. “The harbor is covered with British ships of war. And not only is the city’s foreign commerce cut off, but its domestic as well. Let a scow bring lumber or iron, or a lighter attempt to land hay from the islands and they are stopped. If a farmer attempts to ferry over his marketings or float his sheep into the city, the fleet is ever ready to capture or destroy them.”

“It is, indeed, a condition of affairs not to be tolerated,” remarked Ezra, warmly. “But how has Gage treated the people lately?”

“Oh, fairly enough. But he dare not do otherwise. The new laws are observed only in Boston; the whole outlying colony is in revolt against them, and I think he’s in fear that there may be an outbreak before he’s ready for it.”

“What do you suppose will be the end of it, sir?”

“We must fight!” answered the doctor, gravely; “and to win, we must make preparations.”

“Good!” cried Ezra, and the light in his eyes was that of one who feels deeply. “And as for the preparation, I suppose that is still going forward.”

Dr. Warren nodded.

“We have magazines of stores at Concord and Worcester which are constantly being added to. Cannon, powder and musket-balls are being gathered from every possible source. The organizations of militia are being drilled daily; the minutemen, as we have called them, stand ready to answer the call of the Committee of Safety, day or night.”

For a long time the patriot talked to the boys with simple, unsuspicious directness. And Nat noticed that he, like Revere and Mr. Adams, seemed to have perfect trust in Ezra Prentiss.

That night the boys spent at the “Green Dragon,” an inn much frequented by the patriotic townspeople. Next day Ezra made ready to ride to his home, which had been in Cambridge for the past year or two.

“Of course,” he said to Nat, “what time you stay about Boston, you will spend as my guest. So get ready and go out with me now.”

But Nat shook his head. It was an awkward situation, and the young mountaineer felt it deeply. Suspecting Ezra as he did, he could not accept his hospitality.

“You will be a great deal more comfortable at Cambridge than in the city as it now is,” urged Ezra.

“I have no doubt of that,” returned Nat. “But there are reasons why I should not go. However, I thank you for your kindness.”

The two boys were standing apart upon the pavement of the Green Dragon; and as Nat made this answer, Ezra regarded him steadily with his frank, honest eyes.

“For the first time in my life I know what it is to be held at arm’s length,” said he. “And not only now, but since I first met you.”

Nat did not reply; and the other resumed:

“I don’t know when I’ve met any one whom I’ve more earnestly desired to make my friend than you. Sometimes I’ve thought it would come about; but more often I’ve thought it otherwise.” Nat saw his mouth twitch as he turned away, adding: “There may be a reason for it all; if there is,” meaningly, “don’t forget that it was no fault of mine.”

Of course Ben accompanied his friend to Cambridge. He was vastly surprised when he learned that Nat was not to bear them company; but after one or two questions he subsided; for he had come to understand that Nat only told those things which he desired to tell.

And as the two rode away down the street, the lad from Wyoming turned to the Porcupine who sat upon a bench before the “Dragon” and said:

“Well, midget, what do you think?”

The little eyes of the dwarf seemed to read what was in his tall friend’s mind. He nodded toward the riders who were now some distance away.

“About him?” he asked.

“Well—yes.”

“I like him,” said the Porcupine. “I like him same as you do, and same as every one does. But he’s got a good many things to explain before I’d trust him.”

“I think,” remarked Nat, soberly, “that’s about what I think too.”

That afternoon the two paid a visit to Paul Revere at his shop in North Square; and Nat had a long talk with the engraver as he worked industriously at a plate.

“I can lose no time,” said the man at the beginning, by way of apology. “I’m taken away from my work so often now that I must improve each moment I can snatch.”

But he talked incessantly just the same; and Nat learned much of the condition of Boston, its conflict with king and parliament, of its patriotic population, and the vigorous, if secret, measures taken to oppose the army of Gage.

“And now,” said Revere, at last, pausing in his work, and surveying Nat with questioning eyes, “how would you like to stay on in a town in such a plight?”

Nat was rather puzzled as to just how to take this; but before he could speak, Revere went on:

“I had some talk about you with your cousin as we journeyed along, and he told me just how it is with you. As far as I can see, though of course my information is limited, there is no great call for you to go back to Philadelphia, just yet.”

“No,” Nat replied. “There is not.”

“Good!” exclaimed Revere. He leaned against his bench and scratched his chin. “There are many brawny, ready young men of excellent courage in the city, I have no doubt,” he continued; “but one must see them in action before making sure. Such a one is wanted. Dr. Warren has asked me to recommend him a youth of quality for work that will need to be done in Boston during the winter.”

“And you think I would answer?” inquired Nat.

“I am sure you would!” cried Revere, in high admiration. “Have I not seen you in stress of danger? You were like a rock for steadiness, and you planned like an old campaigner.”

“Just what is the work?” asked Nat.

“I’ll tell you another time,” said Mr. Revere, and Nat noticed him cast a look in the direction of the Porcupine, who sat in a high-backed chair drinking in the conversation.

“Don’t be afraid to trust him,” said Nat, warmly. “I never had a more faithful friend than he has proven himself.”

“I’ll speak to Dr. Warren,” said Revere, evasively. “It may be that the need he spoke of has passed. Come to-morrow at this time and I’ll let you know.”

Nat spent the remainder of the day and part of the next wandering about the city, looking curiously upon the closed stores, the military encampments, the trim looking warships and transports that rode at anchor in the river. But more than anything else he was interested in the people, the quiet, watchful people, so careful that no one should do anything that could be in any way considered an offence to the military. Boston knew that the day of blood was coming; but when it came she wanted to be able to say that she did not strike the first blow.

At about noon on the day following the departure of Ezra and Ben, Nat paused before a likely looking coffee-house in Orange Street not far from Allen’s Lane.

“Shall we go on to the ‘Dragon’ or shall we have something here?” asked he of the Porcupine.

“I do feel rather peckish,” returned the dwarf, “and the ‘Dragon’ is a long way off.”

So without more ado, Nat made his way into the place, followed by his odd-looking ally. There were oaken tables and chairs about the main room, and at the side were others screened by curtains of baize.

“It’ll be more comfortable here, I think,” said Nat, selecting one of these; and so they seated themselves and made known their wants to an attentive waiter. As they ate their thick barley soup with big pewter spoons and nibbled at bits broken from a crusty loaf, their eyes wandered about the great square room and through the door at the people who passed so quietly, up and down.

There were some prints upon the wall that after a little attracted Nat’s attention; and it was while examining these that he heard a sputtering cry from the Porcupine. Turning his head he found that the latter was apparently choking upon a morsel of bread and a mouthful of soup; but at the same time he was almost frantically pointing through the open door with his spoon.

Nat turned his gaze in that direction and his excitement almost equaled that of his companion when he saw, standing upon the pavement before the coffee-house, the tall stranger whom they had encountered at the Bristol inn.

But instantly Nat’s excitement left him. Surprise seldom mastered him; in moments of danger he usually was at his coolest.

“Just give that curtain a twitch,” he said to the dwarf, who was nearest the hanging folds of baize. “I think the gentleman is coming in.”

HE SAW THE TALL STRANGER

The Porcupine did as directed; and it was none too soon, for the tall man, who had apparently paused outside to greet an acquaintance, strode into the coffee-house, laughing and slapping his boot leg with a thick, silver-knobbed cane.

“And look who is with him,” whispered the Porcupine, clutching his friend’s arm, almost fiercely.

“Ezra Prentiss!” breathed Nat, and sank back into his chair, his face stern and set.