Joe, as I have said, had felt his young heart glow and his young pulse beat under the enthusiasm of these ringing declarations and all this debating and questioning appeared to him as fearfully slow and faint-hearted; he wondered why, since the Congress had already passed Mr. Lee’s resolution of Independence, they should so hesitate over Mr. Jefferson’s Declaration of Independence; and, quite frequently, he felt compelled to dash out into the hot and sunny street and work off his impatience in a wild and purposeless “go-as-you-please” around what was called “Mr. Rittenhouse’s Observatory” in the centre of the square. The day dragged on and so did the debate. Even Mr. Jefferson lost patience and, confessing that he was “writhing under” all this talk, needed all of Doctor Franklin’s philosophy and example to calm him down again. So it is not to be wondered at that, late in the afternoon, Joe Nixon, enthusiastic young patriot though he was, grew wearied with the talk and the delay and determined to go home. But just as he was leaving the building there dashed into the State House yard a big chestnut horse covered with foam and dust. Its rider, a fine, well-built man in dust-stained travelling cloak, sprang from the saddle and, dropping the bridle-rein into Joe’s ready hand with a quick, “Here, my lad, take my nag to the City Tavern stables, will you?” hurried without further words into the Congress room. Joe’s impatience changed to burning curiosity again and, transferring his panting charge to another ready lad for attention, he, too, hurried into the hall and asked his friend the doorkeeper who this newcomer might be. “Why, lad, ’tis Mr. Cæsar Rodney, don’t you know,” replied the doorkeeper. “The delegate from the Counties upon Delaware whom they sent for by special post only yesterday, since his colony is divided in action and his vote is needful to carry the Declaration through.” “And did he ride from home to-day?” inquired Joe. “Surely, boy,” said the doorkeeper, “clean from the County of Kent, eighty miles away. ’Twas a gallant day’s ride and a fair day’s work, for by it is independence won.” It was even as he said. Rodney’s glorious ride secured the vote of Delaware for the Declaration and late that very night of Wednesday, the third of July, by a majority vote of the States--as the colonies now called themselves--the immortal paper that we know as the Declaration of Independence passed the Congress. But before it was handed to the secretary to be engrossed, or copied so that it might be signed by all the delegates, Mr. Hancock, as president of the Congress, affixed to it his bold signature that we all now know so well. And young Joe Nixon had, actually, to stuff his hat into his mouth to stifle the hurrah that did so want to burst out when Mr. Hancock, rising from his seat, said in his most decided tones: “There! John Bull can read my name without spectacles. Now let him double the price on my head, for _this_ is my defiance.”