Those were terrible times. Little John Quincy’s thoughts were running after other things besides birds’ eggs. He could hear the thunder of British cannon and the answering roar of American guns. There was fighting very near him. From a hilltop, he could see the battle raging. He knew that some of the American boys who were fighting, were from Braintree. Sometime before, little John Quincy and his mother, Abigail Adams, had escaped from their home in Boston, and had taken refuge in Braintree, which was not far away. Now they were living in constant terror for fear the British should attack Braintree. His father, John Adams, was not there to protect him. He was attending the Continental Congress in Philadelphia. On the 17th of June, 1775, the British cannonading began in the direction of Charlestown. John Quincy and his mother climbed the hill, and watched the battle. With terror-stricken eyes, the boy saw Charlestown go up in flames and fall in ashes. And as for Abigail Adams, she trembled with fear lest the British should attack Braintree next; and then what would become of John Quincy and the other children? So John Quincy and his mother watched the famous battle of Bunker Hill. And while they were listening to the cannon and the guns, their beloved friend, Dr. Joseph Warren, the noble Patriot who had joined the American forces as volunteer, fell mortally wounded. And when the news of his death reached Braintree, John Quincy burst into tears, for Dr. Warren had been the family physician, and had once saved the boy from having a broken finger amputated. And through those exciting times, John Quincy was a staunch boy-patriot. When he was only nine years old, he became his mother’s post-boy, riding to Boston and back, eleven or more miles each way, to get news for her. And every morning before he climbed out of bed, he did as his mother had taught him. After he had said the Lord’s Prayer, he recited:-- _How sleep the Brave, who sink to rest, By all their Country’s wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod, Than Fancy’s feet have ever trod._ _By Fairy hands their knell is rung, By forms unseen their dirge is sung, There Honour comes, a Pilgrim grey, To watch the turf that wraps their clay, And Freedom shall awhile repair To dwell a weeping Hermit there._[1] Thus the boy-patriot did what he could. And when he grew up, he served his Country so well in many important matters, that he was called to her highest office, and became the sixth President of the United States. HOW SHALL THE STARS BE PLACED? On that great day, when the Congress of the United States adopted the Stars and Stripes as our National Flag, it resolved that the union should be Thirteen Stars, white in a blue field, representing a new Constellation.