A lantern hanging from a hook in a rafter illuminated the interior of an ordinary stable room. In the centre of the barn, saddled and bridled, magnificently erect and graceful, was the most beautiful horse Phil had ever seen. The steed stood like some statue of bronze, and the whole picture somehow thrilled the onlookers in an impressive, heroic way. Seated upon the animal, straight, athletic, was a man as mute and motionless as if he was planted there. He held the bridle reins loosely in one hand, but he was posed as if awaiting some word of command upon which he must act on the instant. His ear seemed bent towards the old mill building not five hundred feet away. "Why," began Andy in a tremor of excitement. "S-sh! This way, boys," interrupted Phil, in a quick, cautious whisper. "But I know," began Andy again, insistently. What Andy knew or did not know was not disclosed at that moment. There was again an interruption, and Phil was not responsible for it this time. "Look--say, look!" said Ralph. Way across the broad Charles River on the Boston shore, from the high window of the old North Church, there flashed out the bright light of two big lanterns, the rays shot against some broad reflectors. Thrice the lights rose and fell. Immediately from the upper story of the old mill building, just beyond the spot where the boys stood, a blue light flamed momentarily in response. Then darkness again and silence, but the silence reigned for a moment only. There was a shout inside the barn into which the boys had just peered, the sharp, quick clatter of the hoofs of a horse on the hollow planking. The watcher at the window had disappeared. Phil, Andy and Ralph, inexpressibly excited, ran to the structure and again looked into its interior. The man at the window had darted to the big door of the place. He dashed it open, saying something in a rapid tone to the man on the horse. Rider and animal were posed as if set on springs. One leap, and they cleared the threshold. The man at the door brought his broad hand down on the flank of the speeding horse. His voice rose to an eager, exultant shout, urging steed and rider out into the darkness with the rapidity of an arrow shot from a bow. A thrill ran through every nerve of the overwrought spectators, as he cried: "Go, Paul Revere! The liberty of America depends upon your mission this night!" CHAPTER XXI ALONG THE RIVER "Paul Revere! I told you I knew him!" cried Andy. "Yes, sir, it's war. I remember--my father--Concord--fast horse--warn the country." In an incoherent way Andy made it known to his comrades that he had seen Paul Revere at a meeting of the Sons of Liberty at his home at Concord, and that his father had intimated that the intrepid horseman was listed to act as a courier in the patriotic service. "Hark!" ordered Phil sharply.