David Hollis, and indeed all the members of the Committees of Correspondence, had many matters to keep them busy. A close watch was being kept on the troops in town. It was known that Gage had sent two officers in disguise to make maps of the roads that led to Boston; and rumor had it that he intended to send a strong force to Concord to capture supplies that the patriots had stored there. The month of March dragged past with war-like preparations on both sides. Many of the townsfolk, realizing that open hostilities must begin soon, had moved into the country. Samuel Adams and John Hancock had gone to Lexington, where they were staying with the Rev. Jonas Clark. David Hollis and Glen Drake had both made several trips to the town with messages for them. One day early in April, David Hollis took his wife aside out of hearing of his nephew. “Martha,” he said in a low voice, “I want you to leave the house for a while. There’s going to be trouble, and Boston will be no safe place for you.” Aunt Martha’s chin lifted a trifle. “And, pray, where should I go?” she asked. “To Cousin Deborah’s in Concord.” “I shall not go!” Aunt Martha replied. “But she has already prepared for you; I told her you’d come.” “You had no right to say that.” “But, Martha, listen to reason. I say there will be trouble--I know it! And it’s coming soon. Need I speak plainer than that?” “No, David, you need not. I understand. Yet I intend to remain right here in our home.” David Hollis threw out his hands and turned away. Then with another gesture he said, “Martha Hollis, you are a foolish woman. I--I command you to go; it is for your own good.” Aunt Martha’s blue eyes flashed behind her spectacles. “And I refuse to obey. My place is here, and here is where I stay.” Then with a sudden flash of anger she exclaimed, “I’d like to see any Redcoats drive me from my own home!” David Hollis turned toward the fire and snapped his fingers several times. “It’s too bad,” he said. “Stubbornness is not a virtue.” “You have it!” Uncle David made no reply. “You tell Cousin Deborah that I’m sorry she has gone to any trouble about me.” “I don’t expect to go that way very soon.” “Then Glen can see her.” “Glen has gone--elsewhere.” Aunt Martha was thoughtful. “Well,” she said at last, “as you say, it is too bad, but, David, my mind is made up.” “How would it be to send Donald? Seems to me it might be a good vacation for him. He’s an able lad, and I know that he’d be glad to make the trip. He could ride almost as far as Lexington with Harry Henderson. Cousin Deborah would be glad to have him for overnight.” “Dear me!” said Aunt Martha. “I can’t allow it.” But in the end she yielded, and that evening Don heard the news with glee. “Your cousin is a nervous, exact kind of person,” his aunt told him, “and I want you to tell her everything that I say.” “But what is it?” asked Don.