came again to borrow me. He was going to join the few brave men who
opposed the British force at Bunker or Breed's Hill.

"Sister," he said, "you will lend me the musket, will you not? I
cannot afford to buy one, and we must teach these English what stuff
we are made of."

"Let me go, Mother," said the eldest boy. "I am old enough now; I am
almost nineteen; let me go."

His mother said nothing; she looked at the vacant chair which was
called his father's; she considered a while, and then took me and
put me into her son's hands.

"God bless you, William," she said, "and bring you back safe to us;
but do your duty and fear nothing."

She kissed him, and he left her. I felt William's heart beat bravely
as he shouldered me. He was a fine fellow. We were as one. I was
proud of him, and he of me. No man and musket did better than
William and I, on that never-to-be-forgotten day; but, in the midst
of the battle, a shot wounded William's right arm, and he let me
fall.

His uncle led him off the field and sent him home to his mother. A
countryman, who had nothing but an oak stick to fight with, seized
me as I lay on the ground, and here I met with the first
mortification of my life--he actually used me to dig with. This was
a contemptible feeling in me, and I have since learned to be ashamed
of it, and to know that all labor is equally honorable, if it is for