Katherine and Hyde and Bram were together; Joris and Lysbet were slowly following them.  They were none of them speaking much, nor thinking much, but all were very happy and full of content!  Suddenly the peaceful atmosphere was troubled by the startling clamour of a trumpet.  It was a note so distinct from the music of the bells, so full of terror and warning, that every one stood still.  A second blast was accompanied by the rapid beat of a horse’s hoofs; and the rider came down Broadway like one on a message of life and death, and made no pause until he had very nearly reached Maiden Lane.

At that point a tall, muscular man seized the horse by the bridle, and asked, “What news?”

“Great news! great news!  There has been a battle, a massacre at Lexington, a running fight from Concord to Boston!  Stay me not!” But, as he shook the bridle free, he threw a handbill, containing the official account of the affair at Lexington to the inquirer.

Who then thought of church, though the church-bells were ringing?  The crowd gathered around the man with the handbill, and in ominous silence listened to the tidings of the massacre at Lexington, the destruction of stores at Concord, the quick gathering of the militia from the hills and dales around Reading and Roxbury, the retreat of the British under their harassing fire, until, worn out and disorganized, they had found a refuge in Boston.  “And this is the postscript at the last moment,” added the reader:  “’Men are pouring in from all the country sides; Putnam left his plough in the furrow, and rode night and day to the ground; Heath, also, is with him.’”

Joris was white and stern in his emotion; Bram stood by the reader, with a face as bright as a bridegroom’s; Hyde’s lips were drawn tight, and his eyes were flashing with the true military flame.  “Father,” he said, “take mother and Katherine to church; Bram and I will stay here, for I can see that there is something to be done.”

“God help us!  Yes, I will go to Him first;” and, taking his wife and daughter, he passed with them out of the crowd.

Hyde turned to the reader, who stood with bent brows, and the paper in his hand.  “Well, sir, what is to be done?” he asked.

“There are five hundred stand of arms in the City Hall; there are men enough here to take them.  Let us go.”

A loud cry of assent answered him.

“My name is Richard Hyde, late of his Majesty’s Windsor Guards; but I am with you, heart and soul.”

“I am Marinus Willet.”

“Then, Mr. Willet, where first?”

[Illustration:  The City Hall]

“To the mayor’s residence.  He has the keys of the room in which the arms are kept.”

The news spread, no one knew how; but men poured out from the churches and the houses on their route, and Willet’s force was soon nearly a thousand strong.  The tumult, the tread, the animus of the gathering, was felt in that part of the city even where it could not be heard.  Joris could hardly endure the suspense, and the service did him very little good.  About two o’clock, as he was walking restlessly about the house, Bram and Hyde returned together.