to
the door, not only to see the last of her beloved nephew, but to try
to speak to some one who could give her more definite news of the
seven hundred British soldiers who had arrived in town and were drawn
up in formidable array against the motley company of colonists. The
British officers at once commanded the colonists to lay down their
arms and disperse. Not a single man obeyed. All stood in silent
defiance of the order. Then the British regulars poured into the
"minute-men" a fatal volley of shots; and about that time Aunt Lydia
descended to the parsonage door, and excited Dorothy threw open her
window that she might wave to her lover until he was out of sight. As
she drew back, she saw something whiz through the air past her aunt's
head, striking the barn door beyond, and heard her aunt exclaim:

"What was that?"

It was a British bullet, and no mistake! As Dorothy told later: "The
next thing I knew, two men were being brought into the house, one,
whose head had been grazed by a bullet, insisted that he was dead; but
the other, who was shot in the arm, behaved better."

Dorothy Quincy had seen the first shot fired for independence!

Never was there a more gallant resistance of a large and
well-disciplined enemy force than that shown by the minute-men on that
day at Lexington, and when at last the British retreated under a hot
fire from the provincials at whom they had sneered, they had lost two
hundred and seventy-three, killed, wounded, and missing, while the
American force had lost only ninety-three.

As soon as the troops were marching on their way to Concord, a
messenger brought Dorothy a penciled note from Hancock: "Would she and
his aunt come to their hiding-place for dinner, and would they bring
with them the fine salmon which was to have been cooked for dinner at
the parsonage?" Of course they would--only too eagerly did they make
ready and allow the messenger to guide them to the patriot's place of
concealment. There, while the lovers enjoyed a tete-a-tete, Adams and
Aunt Lydia made the feast ready, and they were all about to enjoy it,
when a man rushed in crying out wildly:

"The British are coming! The British are coming! My wife's in eternity
now."

This was grim news, and there was no more thought of feasting.
Hurriedly Mr. Marrett made ready and took the patriots to a safer
hiding-place, in Amos Wyman's house in Billerica. There, later in the
day, they satisfied their appetites as best they