"And for _her_ sake I will shake hands with you," said Martha Moulton. So he turned back, and, across the threshold, in presence of the waiting troops, the commander of the expedition to Concord and the only woman in the town shook hands at parting. Martha Moulton saw Major Pitcairn mount his horse; heard the order given for the march to begin--the march of which you all have heard. You know what a sorry time the Red Coats had of it in getting back to Boston; how they were fought at every inch of the way, and waylaid from behind every convenient tree-trunk, and shot at from tree-tops, and aimed at from upper windows, and besieged from behind stone walls, and, in short, made so miserable and harassed and overworn, that at last their depleted ranks, with the tongues of the men parched and hanging, were fain to lie down by the road-side and take what came next, even though it might be death. And then _the dead_ they left behind them! Ah! there's nothing wholesome to mind or body about war, until long, long after it is over and the earth has had time to hide the blood, and send forth its sweet blooms of Liberty. The men of that day are long dead. The same soil holds regulars and minute-men. England, which over-ruled, and the provinces, that put out brave hands to seize their rights, are good friends to-day, and have shaken hands over many a threshold of hearty thought and kind deed since that time. The tree of Liberty grows yet, stately and fair, for the men of the Revolution planted it well, and surely, God himself _hath_ given it increase. So we gather to-day, in this our story, a forget-me-not more, from the old town of Concord. When the troops had marched away, the weary little woman laid aside her silken gown, resumed her homespun dress, and immediately began to think of getting Uncle John down-stairs again into his easy chair; but it required more aid than she could give, to lift the fallen man. At last, Joe Devins summoned returning neighbors, who came to the rescue, and the poor nubbins were left to the rats once more. Joe climbed down the well and rescued the blue stocking, with its treasures unharmed, even to the precious watch, which watch was Martha Moulton's chief treasure, and one of the very few in the town. Martha Moulton was the heroine of the day. The house was besieged by admiring men and women that night and for two or three days thereafter; but when, years later, she being older, and poorer, even to want, petitioned the General Court for a reward for the service she rendered in persuading Major Pitcairn to save the court-house from burning, there was granted to her only fifteen dollars, a poor little grant, it is true, but _just enough_ to carry her story down the years, whereas, but for that, it might never have been wafted up and down the land, on the wings of this story. A WINDHAM LAMB IN BOSTON TOWN.