While the Americans were thus slowly dislodged from the redoubt, Stark, Read, and Knowlton maintained their ground at the fortified fence; which, indeed, had been nobly defended throughout the action. Pomeroy distinguished himself here by his sharp-shooting until his musket was shattered by a ball. The resistance at this hastily constructed work was kept up after the troops in the redoubt had given way, and until Colonel Prescott had left the hill; thus defeating General Howe’s design of cutting off the retreat of the main body, which would have produced a scene of direful confusion and slaughter. Having effected their purpose, the brave associates at the fence abandoned their weak outpost, retiring slowly, and disputing the ground inch by inch, with a regularity remarkable in troops many of whom had never before been in action. The main retreat was across Bunker’s Hill, where Putnam had endeavored to throw up a breastwork. The veteran, sword in hand, rode to the rear of the retreating troops, regardless of the balls whistling about him. His only thought was to rally them at the unfinished works. “Halt! make a stand here!” cried he, “we can check them yet. In God’s name form and give them one shot more.” Pomeroy, wielding his shattered musket as a truncheon, seconded him in his efforts to stay the torrent. It was impossible, however, to bring the troops to a stand. They continued on down the hill to the Neck, and across it to Cambridge, exposed to a raking fire from the ships and batteries, and only protected by a single piece of ordnance. The British were too exhausted to pursue them; they contented themselves with taking possession of Bunker’s Hill, were reinforced from Boston, and threw up additional works during the night. HER PUNISHMENT[G] By ELIZABETH GIBSON How a certain little girl prepared for General Washington the “best breakfast he had had in a month.” Long, long ago, when my mother was a little girl, there lived in her neighborhood an old lady whom all the children called “Aunt Prissy.” She was a quaint, funny little old lady, with her bobbing white curls, and always wore a small black lace cap, a black silk gown, a soft white kerchief, and fringed silk apron. The children loved to pay a visit to Aunt Prissy. After they were all carefully seated, each child with a small seed-cake, the eager little faces would turn toward her, and one of the children would say, “Now, Aunt Prissy, we won’t drop crumbs on the floor, and we are sitting up straight, and we haven’t got our knees crossed, so won’t you please tell us about the time you saw General Washington with your own eyes?” Aunt Prissy would count the stitches in her knitting, look up over her “specs,” and begin, “Well, well, children, it does seem to me you ought to know _that_ story by heart. But never mind; I s’pose you know which you like best.