Early one morning the two boys were on their way to Coffin’s Field to get bait for fishing. Each was lightly dressed, and both were hurrying along briskly. The sun was pushing its way up warm and bright and seemed to promise a good day. They had come down Newbury Street and were turning into Essex when Jud pointed to the Liberty Tree, a great elm that stood on the southeast corner. “That’s what I call the finest tree that ever grew,” he said. “It surely is pretty,” replied Don; “just look how dainty and green the leaves are, and how the limbs curve way up and hang over like long ferns. Yes, I’d say an elm is about the finest tree that ever grew.” “I wasn’t thinking of the appearance of it so much,” Jud replied, “though it surely is a beauty. I was thinking rather of what it means. It stands for Liberty. Don’t you remember how, whenever there used to be trouble with King George, folks would flock to the tree?” “They do still, for that matter.” “Well, yes, but I was thinking of one night when I was just a little fellow. I don’t remember just what had happened--the repeal of a stamp law maybe--anyway Ma took me to the tree, and there it was covered with lanterns and a big flag flying from the pole in the centre up there, and everybody was laughing and singing and ringing bells. Oh, it surely was fine!” Still talking about the tree, the boys went on down Essex Street and a few minutes later were at Coffin’s Field. Jud led the way to a far corner of it, where they began to dig. For almost three-quarters of an hour they worked, turning over great clods of earth; but grub worms, which they particularly wanted, were scarce. “How many have we got?” asked Don. Jud counted them. “Only fourteen,” he replied. “Let’s try over there behind that pig-pen.” The ground behind the pig-pen proved somewhat better, and at last, with a fair supply of worms, the boys started back along Essex Street. They were perhaps half-way to Newbury Street when they heard loud talking and boisterous laughter. A minute later they saw a crowd--mostly soldiers and Tories--at the corner. Suddenly the two boys stopped short. Don grasped Jud’s arm and in a choking voice cried, “See what they’ve done!” Jud was speechless; his lips moved, but he made no sound. There in front of them, the centre of a boorish mob, lay the Liberty Tree! It had been cut down near the base. The delicate leaves and slender twigs were being trampled underfoot as Tories and Redcoats moved here and there, laughing, shouting and swearing. Great limbs that once had swayed so gracefully in the breeze were scattered about along the street; deep white gashes showed where the cruel axe had bitten into them. And the odor of green wood filled the moist warm air. “J-Jud!” cried Don. But Jud did not utter a word. His ruddy face was pale, and his cheeks seemed suddenly hollow. “Well, what do you think of your fine tree now?” said a mocking voice. Both boys turned and confronted--Tom Bullard.