“Yes, yes. You have got that learned, haven’t you? Grandfather said that all through that long, hard march from Concord back to Boston they were fighting. They were ashamed to be beaten by those they had made fun of. “Every stone wall, every large rock or tree seemed to have an American behind it. He said it was wonderful how those farmers could shoot. Dozens of the Englishmen fell and died there in the road. Granddad told us how they struggled on, tired, wounded, thirsty, and almost ready to give up. Finally most of them got back to Charlestown, and were safe. But all day long, and most of the night before, they had had to march. “And they didn’t do what they went out for, either, for the Americans had carried off the guns and powder they went to destroy. The night before they marched out gaily enough, expecting to have no trouble, and only a trip into the country in the fine spring air. “But the trip became a terrible battle, and began a great war. And ever since America and England have been two separate nations. “Grandfather went back to England very soon, and as he couldn’t march and fight any more, he got a pension from the king and stayed in England all his life. “He liked America, and always said that now there was peace, and the new country promised so much, he would like to go there to live; but he never did. My father brought us over, though, when I was sixteen. So I am an American, if my grandfather was one of the redcoats who fought at Lexington in America.” “I’d rather have a grandfather that was a minute-man,” said one of the boys. “Perhaps the great-grandfathers of some of you fought the redcoats,” said Grandpa Sturdy. “But I am not ashamed to tell you that my grandfather wore one of the king’s red-and-white uniforms and carried a British gun. The soldiers were doing their duty bravely enough. It was the king and the men with him who were to blame for the battle. Well, boys, march on again, march along. Stand up for your flag. It is my flag, too, and I love it. Always be ready to be minute-men for the flag.” “Attention, company! Carry arms! Forward, march!” shouted the captain. Away went the procession to the teacher’s house, their flags waving gaily and the flowers they were carrying nodding their heads, while Grandpa Sturdy settled back in his easy chair. A TRUE STORY OF THE REVOLUTION[V] By EVERETT T. TOMLINSON A boy’s story by a boy’s author, telling of a thrilling escape from “Tarleton’s men.” “Father’s escaped! Moses has just brought me word,” said John Russell, as he ran to the steps of the broad veranda. His mother quickly rose from her chair and looked down at the eager boy on the steps below her. Her slight figure was trembling, and a bright red spot had appeared on each cheek. “Are you sure, John?” she asked, in a low tone.