ves that it is sometimes impossible to name
the compound, although on that occasion Martha Moulton labelled it
"Patriotism."

"And yet I put out the fire for you," he said.

"For your mother's sake, in old England, it was, you remember, sir."

"I remember," said Major Pitcairn, with a sigh, as he turned away.

"And for HER sake I will shake hands with you," said Martha Moulton.

So he turned back, and across the threshold, in presence of the waiting
troops, the commander of the expedition to Concord, and the only woman
in the town, shook hands at parting.

Martha Moulton saw Major Pitcairn mount his horse; heard the order given
for the march to begin,--the march of which you all have heard. You know
what a sorry time the Red-coats had of it in getting back to Boston; how
they were fought at every inch of the way, and waylaid from behind every
convenient tree-trunk, and shot at from tree-tops, and aimed at from
upper windows, and beseiged from behind stone walls, and, in short,
made so miserable and harassed and overworn, that at last their depleted
ranks, with the tongues of the men parched and hanging, were fain to lie
down by the road-side and take what came next, even though it might be
death. And then THE DEAD they left behind them!

Ah! there's nothing wholesome to mind or body about war, until long,
long after it is over, and the earth has had time to hide the blood, and
send it forth in sweet blooms of liberty, with forget-me-nots springing
thick between.

The men of that day are long dead. The same soil holds regulars and
minute-men. England, who over-ruled, and the provinces, that put out
brave hands to seize their rights, are good friends to-day, and have
shaken hands over many a threshold of hearty thought and kind deeds
since that time.

The tree of Liberty grows yet, stately and fair, for the men of the
Revolution planted it well and surely. God himself HATH given it
increase. So we gather to-day, in this our story, a forget-me-not more,
from the old town of Concord.

When the troops had marched away, the weary little woman laid aside her
silken gown, resumed her homespun dress, and immediately began to think
of getting Uncle John down-stairs again into his easy chair; but it
required more aid than she could give to lift the fallen man. At last
Joe Devins summoned returning neighbors, who came to the rescue, and the
poor nubbins were left to the rats once more.

Joe climbed down the well and re