With a shout and a cry of "Ring! ring!" and a clapping of hands, he rushed upward to the belfry. The words, springing from his lips like arrows, sped their way into the ears and hands of Bellman Grey. Grasping the iron tongue of the old bell, backward and forward he hurled it a hundred times, its loud voice proclaiming to all the people that down in Independence Hall a new nation was born to the earth that day. When the members heard its tones swinging out the joyous notes they marvelled, because no one had authorized the announcement. When the key was turned from within, and the door opened, there stood the mystery facing them, in the person of Blue-Eyed Boy. "I told him to ring; I heard the news!" he shouted, and opened the State House doors to let the Congress out and all the world in. You know the rest; the acclamation of the multitude, the common peals (they forgot to be careful of powder that night in the staid old city), the big bonfires, and the illuminations that rang and roared and boomed and burned from Delaware to Schuylkill. In the waning light of the latest bonfire, up from the city of Penn, rode our Blue-Eyed Boy--true to his purpose to be the first to carry the glad news to General Washington. "It will be like meeting an old friend," he thought; for had he not seen the commander-in-chief every day going in and out of the Congress Hall during his visit to Philadelphia only a month ago? The self-appointed courier never deemed other evidence of the truth of his news needful than his own "word of mouth." He rode a strong young horse, which, early in the year, had been left in his care by a southern officer when on his way to the camp at Cambridge; and that no one might worry about him, he had taken the precaution to intrust his secret to a neighbor lad to tell at the home-door in the light of early day. The journey was long, too long to write of here. Suffice it to say, that on Sunday morning Blue-Eyed Boy reached the ferry at the Hudson river. The old ferryman hesitated to cross with the lad. "Wait at my house until the cool of the evening," he urged. But Blue-Eyed Boy said, "No, I must cross this morning, and my pony: I'll pay for two if you'll take me." The ferryman crossed the river with the boy, who, on the other side, inquired his way to the headquarters of the general. Warm, tired, hungry, and dusty, he urged his pony forward to the place, only to find that he whom he sought had gone to divine service at St. Paul's church. Blue-Eyed Boy rode to St. Paul's. In the Fields (now City Hall Park) he tied his faithful horse, and went his way to the church. Gently and with reverent mien, he entered the open door, and listened to the closing words of the sermon. At length the service was over and the congregation turned toward the entrance where stood the young traveler, his heart beating with exultant pride at the glorious news he had to tell to the glorious commander.