“Well, no, not just at Boston.  But out Concord way, and at Lexington, and on the road back to Boston, I should reckon a few things had happened.”  And then, leaving off his exasperating drawl, he very speedily related the terrible occurrence of the nineteenth of April—­terrible because ’twas warlike bloodshed in a peaceful land, between the king’s soldiers and the king’s subjects, between men of the same race and speech, men of the same mother country; and because of what was to follow in its train.  I remember how easily and soon the tale was told; how clearly the man’s calm voice, though scarce raised above a usual speaking tone, stood out against the Sunday morning stillness, with no sound else but the twittering of birds in the trees near by.

“Get up!” said the messenger, not waiting for our thanks or comments; and so galloped into the town, leaving us to stare after him and then at each other.

“’Faith, this will make the colonies stand together,” said Philip at last.

“Ay,” said I, “against the rebellious party.”

“No,” quoth he, “when I say the colonies, I mean what you call the rebellious party in them.”

“Why, ’tis not the majority, and therefore it can’t be said to represent the colonies.”

“I beg your pardon—­I think we shall find it is the majority, particularly outside of the large towns.  This news will fly to every corner of the land as fast as horses can carry it, and put the country folk in readiness for whatever the Continental Congress may decide upon.”

“Why, then, ’twill put our people on their guard, too, for whatever the rebels may attempt.”

Philip’s answer to this brought about some dispute as to whether the name rebels, in its ordinary sense, could properly be applied to those colonists who had what he termed grievances.  We both showed heat, I the more, until he, rather than quarrel, fell into silence.  We had turned back into the town; choosing a roundabout way for home, that we might observe the effect of the messenger’s news upon the citizens.  In a few streets the narrow footways were thronged with people in their churchgoing clothes, and many of these had already gathered into startled groups, where the rider who came in such un-Sabbath-like haste had stopped to justify himself, and satisfy the curiosity of observers, and ask the whereabouts of certain gentlemen of the provincial assembly, to whom he had letters.  We heard details repeated, and opinions uttered guardedly, and grave concern everywhere expressed.

By the time we had reached home, Mr. and Mrs. Faringfield were already there, discussing the news with my mother, in the presence of the two daughters and Tom.  We found them all in the parlour.  Margaret stood in the library doorway, still holding her novel in her hand, her finger keeping the page.  Her face showed but a languid interest in the tragedy which made all the others look so grave.