"I know it is taking a big risk, Mother. But Mr. Winthrop says he wants his cattle, and I don't blame him. In these days twelve good cows are worth some money."

"I agree with you, Roger; but an expedition to Hog and Noddle's Islands may prove very disastrous. Since our awful fight here in Lexington, and at Concord, and down in Charlestown, the British have been in an ugly mood; and if they discover what is going on, they will send a guard over to the islands to kill every minuteman, or take him a prisoner."

"Mr. Winthrop and the others are going to try to get to the islands and back before the British soldiers realize what is going on."

"How many head of cattle are there on the two islands?"

"About five hundred, so Dick said, besides some horses and a good lot of sheep. Now that we have the British penned in Boston, it would be a shame to let them grow fat on the livestock belonging to the colonists. I'd fight them again, before I'd give them a single head," and Roger Morse's manly face showed that he meant what he said.

"Oh, my son, don't talk about fighting again!" cried Mrs. Morse, in quick alarm. "Why, that wound in your head isn't healed up yet, and poor Hen is still limping around from the dreadful treatment he received at the hands of those redcoats. Wait, at least, until you are better."

"I'm well enough to take my place among the minute boys. Don't you think so, Dorothy?" and Roger appealed to his sister, who had just entered the sitting room of the Morse homestead with a bowl of gruel for the invalid mother.

"That is for you to say, Roger," was the answer of the girl, who, since the death of her father, had had the care of the household on her shoulders. "But if you go away, and Hen goes, I really don't know what will become of the farm."

"And what will become of the farm if the British break out of Boston, come here again, and start another fight? You may be certain, if they get a chance, they'll burn down every building in sight."

"God forbid that such a thing should happen, my son!" murmured Mrs. Morse. For a moment she sipped her gruel in silence. "Then you'll really think of going?"

"Unless you say I must stay at home, I intend to leave on Friday. The cattle owners are going over to the islands on Saturday, and I would like to be with Mr. Winthrop and Dick."

"What about Hen? Are you going to take him with you?"

"No, I think he ought to stay home a few days or a week longer. The bruise on his knee isn't quite healed up yet."

"I do not see how I am to spare both of you again," sighed Mrs. Morse. "But duty is duty, I know, and our colonies need every man they can get, in order to vindicate our rights. Yet the boys - "

"I've heard Israel Putnam's youngest son is in the Connecticut volunteers. He isn't sixteen yet. If Old Put allows his son to go to the front, why - "

"Then Roger shall go," finished Dorothy Morse, promptly, as she threw her arm over her only brother's shoulder. "But, oh, Roger, do take care of yourself! Remember those redcoats can fire quite as true as our minutemen, and their bullets are just as deadly."

"You can rest assured that I'll be careful," laughed the youth, much relieved to think that there had not been a "scene" over his intended departure. "But there is one thing that is worrying me. All told, I haven't over a pint of powder around the place."

"Cannot you get more from some of our soldiers?"

"Get more? Why, half a dozen of them have begged me for what I have. They say those around the Neck haven't over ten rounds of ammunition apiece. If General Gage knew that, how he would come out to lay them low! But he doesn't know it, and our officers are taking great precautions so that he sha'n't find out."

"You'll have to leave some powder for Hen," put in Dorothy. "He wouldn't like it if he was left without any."

"I intend to leave him half. But I've got another scheme in my head," went on Roger, as he began to pace the floor. "You remember that old stone house in the woods, up near Grayley's, - the house in which that Sergeant Kegan and his men made me a prisoner? Well, I imagine those fellows left some powder there, - in fact, I am half certain of it. I'm going over there this afternoon to have a look, and Paul Darly is going over with me."

"What makes you imagine that they left powder there?" questioned Dorothy, with interest.

"One of the soldiers - a fellow named Windotte - carried a little keg slung in a strap. When they took me into the building, I noticed that he placed the keg out of sight, on the top shelf of the cupboard. I believe he intended to come back for it later on, but since that time I've got to thinking it over, and I don't believe he ever had the chance to go back, for he was badly wounded down by Buckman's Tavern. If the keg had powder in it, and it is still there, it will be a big prize to uncover - just now," concluded the boy.

Roger Morse was a tall, well-built, manly youth of sixteen years, who lived with his mother and his only sister, Dorothy, on the outskirts of Lexington, on a homestead farm, facing the old Boston road. The farm was one of the most productive in the neighborhood, and since the death of his father, some years previous, Roger had taken entire charge of the outside work, assisted in these duties by Hen Peabody, a hired man of all work.

Mrs. Morse was a lady of forty-five, who had been more or less of an invalid for years. She depended almost entirely upon Roger; Dorothy, who was two years older than her brother; and the ever faithful Hen, who had long since been accepted as an additional member of the household. Hen was from the Green Mountain district, a patriot to the core, and a man who thought his young master "jest right, always."

In a previous work, entitled "The Minute Boys Of Lexington," the particulars are related of how, one morning in April, Roger was stopped on the road by a . . .