Just before the Revolutionary War the whole country, as every boy and girl ought to know, was in a state of ferment and dread. War seemed inevitable, and the oppressive rule of the English was the theme of conversation everywhere. Little John heard much of it, and longed to be a man that he might join the “rebellious colonists.” And one day he received a compliment which set him thinking of matters in a way the older members of his family never mistrusted. A visitor from Boston was at the farmhouse, and the talk, as usual, ran on the prospect of war in the colonies. During a pause in the conversation, Mr. Holden asked John to play something on the fife. When he had played a stirring march or two, the stranger exclaimed, “Upon my word! But the boy has the soul of music in him! He will be ready for the British bulls and lions when it is necessary.” John sat quite still for some time. But before he went to bed he went to his father and said, “Father, if the British do come, shall I go to war with my fife?” “To be sure,” answered his father laughingly. “They could not get along without you.” Long after his father had forgotten this incident, John Holden took his dog Zip, and his darling fife, and went to a favorite hill on the place to practise. At night the dog came back alone and going straight up to the boy’s chamber began to moan and cry, and would not leave John’s bed. The family were greatly alarmed, and instantly divined that something had happened to John. Soon the whole town was in commotion; for the news that John Holden was lost flew like wildfire. Bands of men were organized and went searching the woods in every direction. Indians had been traveling through the town recently. Had they carried off the boy or had they stolen the valuable fife and thrown the boy into the river? The woods were hunted through and through; the river was dragged; notices of the lost boy were sent in every direction; but weeks lengthened into months and no clew was obtained that threw the faintest glimmer of light on the strange disappearance. Everybody believed him to be dead, or with the cruel Indians. Everybody but one. The boy’s mother never lost faith in his being safe somewhere. “My boy is in God’s hands,” she would say. “In his good time John will come home.” And nothing could move her from this belief while two anxious years slipped by. In the meantime war had broken out, and Shirley had sent her full quota of men to fight for the country’s independence. It was through one of these that a rumor reached Mr. Holden that a boy of twelve was in General Washington’s army as fifer.