When night came, Paul Revere was at the riverside with his horse. He
looked over toward Boston. He knew where the old North Church stood,
but he could not see much in the darkness.

Hour after hour he stood and watched. The town seemed very still; but
now and then he could hear the beating of a drum or the shouting of
some soldier.

The moon rose, and by its light he could see the dim form of the church
tower, far away. He heard the clock strike ten. He waited and watched.

The clock struck eleven. He was beginning to feel tired. Perhaps the
soldiers had given up their plan.

He walked up and down the river bank, leading his horse behind him;
but he kept his eyes turned always toward the dim, dark spot which he
knew was the old North Church.

All at once a light flashed out from the tower. "Ah! there it is!" he
cried. The soldiers had started.

He spoke to his horse. He put his foot in the stirrup. He was ready
to mount.

Then another light flashed clear and bright by the side of the first
one. The soldiers would cross the river.

Paul Revere sprang into the saddle. Like a bird let loose, his horse
leaped forward. Away they went.