They mounted the hill briskly but in silence, guided by a boy from the neighborhood. The day dawned as Allen arrived at a sally-port. A sentry pulled trigger on him, but his piece missed fire. He retreated through a covered way. Allen and his men followed. Another sentry thrust at Easton with his bayonet, but was struck down by Allen and begged for quarter. It was granted on condition of his leading the way instantly to the quarters of the commandant, Captain Delaplace, who was yet in bed. Being arrived there, Allen thundered at the door, and demanded a surrender of the fort. By this time his followers had formed into two lines on the parade-ground, and given three hearty cheers. The commandant appeared at his door half dressed, “the frightened face of his pretty wife peering over his shoulder.” He gazed at Allen in bewildered astonishment. “By whose authority do you act?” exclaimed he. “In the name of the great Jehovah and the Continental Congress,” replied Allen, with a flourish of his sword, and an oath which we do not care to subjoin. There was no disputing the point. The garrison, like the commander, had been startled from sleep, and made prisoners as they rushed forth in their confusion. A surrender accordingly took place. THE CAPTURE OF THE HENNEPIN GUN[J] By MARGARET EMMA DITTO The Fourth of July pranks of a young Ethan Allen and his friends--descendants of the Green Mountain Boys of Revolutionary days. On the evening of the third of July, somewhat more than fifty years ago, a number of boys were gathered in secret council at a deserted house on Otter Creek. The boys had come one by one in the gathering gloom of the early darkness, creeping along from bush to copse or hugging the shady side of the stone fences. They had come silently--no lilt of merry whistle or song, no wanton hoot or random stone-fling, had betrayed their presence on the road. “There are nine of us already,” whispered a tall boy of fifteen as he shoved aside the hingeless door and peered out. “That is Seneca Goodyear coming across the meadow. He is strong if he does limp. Come in, Senk, and shut the door quick, hang your coat over the crack, and I’ll stand against the lower part. Now, Martin, let out your lantern--just a narrow slit of light and throw it on the floor--not in our faces. Go on, Ethan, and tell them about it.” A heavy-shouldered boy with Saxon hair and eyes straightened himself up from the cobwebby wall against which he had been leaning and settled himself stolidly on his feet. This boy’s name was Ethan Allen and he was a descendant of the Revolutionary hero of the same name.