Dr. Wilson's History Blog

A TOOTH FOR PAUL REVERE 

Some say it all happened because of Hancock and Adams (saia
the old man, pulling at his pipe), and some put it back to the
Stamp Act and before. Then there's some hold out for Paul
Revere and his little silver box. But the way I heard it, it broke
loose because of Lige Butterwick and his tooth. 

What's that? Why, the American Revolution, of course. What
else would I be talking about? Well, your story about the land
down South that they had to plough with alligators reminded me. 

No, this is a true story or at least that's how I heard it told.
My great-aunt was a Butterwick and I heard it from her. And,
every now and then, she'd write it out and want to get it put
in the history books. But they'd always put her off with some
trifling sort of excuse. Till, finally, she got her dander up and
wrote direct to the President of the United States. Well, no,
he didn't answer himself exactly the President's apt to be a
pretty busy man. But the letter said he'd received her interesting
communication and thanked her for it, so that shows you. We've
got it framed, in the trailer the ink's a little faded, but you can
make out the man's name who signed it. It's either Bowers or
Thorpe and he wrote a very nice hand. 

You see, my great-aunt, she wasn't very respectful to the kind
of history that does get into the books. What she liked was the
queer corners of it and the tales that get handed down in families.
Take Paul Revere, for instance all most folks think about, with
him, is his riding a horse. But when she talked about Paul Revere
why, you could just see him in his shop, brewing the American
Revolution in a silver teapot and waiting for it to settle. Oh yes,
he was a silversmith by trade but she claimed he was something
more. She claimed there was a kind of magic in that quick, skill-
ful hand of his and that he was one of the kind of folks that can
see just a little bit farther into a millstone than most. But it was
when she got to Lige Butterwick that she really turned herself
loose. 

For she claimed that it took all sorts to make a country and
that meant the dumb ones, too. I don't mean ijits or nincompoops
just the ordinary folks that live along from day to day. And 

'7 

Stephen Vincent Benet 

that day may be a notable day in history but it's just Tuesday
to them, till they read all about it in the papers. Oh, the heroes
and the great men they can plan and contrive and see ahead. But
it isn't till the Lige Butterwicks get stirred up that things really
start to happen. Or so she claimed. And the way that they do get
stirred up is often curious, as she'd tell this story to prove. 

For, now you take Lige Butterwick and, before his tooth
started aching, he was just like you and me. He lived on a farm
about eight miles from Lexington, Massachusetts, and he was a
peaceable man. It was troubled times in the American colonies,
what with British warships in Boston Harbor and British soldiers
in Boston and Sons of Liberty hooting the British soldiers not
to speak of Boston tea parties and such. But Lige Butterwick, he
worked his farm and didn't pay much attention. There's lots of
people like that, even in troubled times. 

When he went into town, to be sure, there was high talk at
the tavern. But he bought his goods and 'came home again he had
ideas about politics, but he didn't talk about them much. He had
a good farm and it kept him busy he had a wife and five chil-
dren and they kept him humping. The young folks could argue
about King George and Sam Adams he wondered how the corn
was going to stand that year. Now and then, if somebody said
that this and that was a burning shame, he'd allow as how it might
be, just to be neighborly. But, inside, he was wondering whether
next year he mightn't make an experiment and plant the west
field in rye. 

Well, everything went along for him the way that it does for
most folks with good years and bad years, till one April morning,
in 1775, he woke up with a toothache. Being the kind of man he
was, he didn't pay much attention to it at first. But he men-
tioned it that evening, at supper, and his wife got a bag of hot
salt for him. He held it to his face and it seemed to ease him,
but he couldn't hold it there all night, and, next morning, the
tooth hurt worse than ever. 

Well, he stood it the next day and the next, but it didn't
improve any. He tried tansy tea and other remedies he tried
tying a string to it and having his wife slam the door. But, when
it came to the pinch, he couldn't quite do it. So, finally, he took
the horse and rode into Lexington town to have it seen to. Mrs.
Butterwick made him she said it might be an expense, but any- 

18 

A Tooth for Paul Revere 

thing was better than having him act as if he wanted to kick the
cat across tne room every time she put her feet down hard. 

When he got into Lexington, he noticed that folks there
seemed kind of excited. There was a lot of talk about muskets
and powder and a couple of men called Hancock and Adams
who were staying at Parson Clarke's, But Lige Butterwick had his
own business to attend to and, besides, his tooth was jumping
so he wasn't in any mood for conversation. He set off for the
local barber's, as being the likeliest man he knew to pull a tooth. 

The barber took one look at it and shook his head. 

"I can pull her, Lige," he said. "Oh, I can pull her, all right.
But she's got long roots and strong roots and she's going to
leave an awful gap when she's gone. Now, what you really
need," he said, kind of excited, for he was one of those perky
little men who's always interested in the latest notion, "what
you really need though it's taking away my business is one
of these-herc artificial teeth to go in the hole." 

"Artificial teeth!" said Lige. "It's flying in the face of Nature!" 

The barber shook his head. "No, Lige," he said, "that's where
you're wrong. Artificial teeth is all the go these days, and Lexing-
ton ought to keep up with the times. It would do me good to see
you with an artificial tooth it would so." 

"Well, it might do you good," said Lige, rather crossly, for his
tooth was jumping, "but, supposing I did want one how in tunket
will I get one in Lexington?" 

"Now you just leave that to me," said the barber, all excited,
and he started to rummage around. "You'll have to go to Boston
for it, but I know just the man." He was one of those men who
can always tell you where to go and it's usually wrong. "See
here," he went on. "There's a fellow called Revere in Boston
that fixes them and they say he's a boss workman. Just take a
look at this prospectus" and he started to read from a paper:
" Whereas many persons are so unfortunate as to lose their fore-
teeth' that's you, Lige 'to their great detriment, not only in
looks but in speaking, both in public and private, this is to inform
all such that they may have them replaced by artificial ones' see?
'that look as well as the natural and answer the end of speak-
ing to all intents' and then he's got his name Paul Revere, gold-
smith, near the head of Dr. Clarke's wharf, Boston." 

"Sounds well enough," said Lige, "but what's it going to cost?" 

19 

Stephen Vincent Eenet 

"Oh, I know Revere," said the barber, swelling up like a robin.
"Comes through here pretty often, as a matter of fact. And he's
a decent fellow, if he is a pretty big bug in the Sons of Liberty.
You just mention my name." 

"Well, it's something I hadn't thought of," said Lige, as his
tooth gave another red-hot jounce, "but in for a penny, in for
a pound. I've missed a day's work already and that tooth's got
to come out before I go stark, staring mad. But what sort of man
is this Revere, anyway?" 

"Oh, he's a regular wizard!" said the barber. "A regular wiz-
ard with his tools." 

"Wizard!" said Lige. "Well, I don't know about wizards. But
if he can fix my tooth I'll call him one." 

"You'll never regret it," said the barber and that's the way
folks always talk when they're sending someone else to the den-
tist. So Lige Butterwick got on his horse again and started out
for Boston. A couple of people shouted at him as he rode down
the street, but he didn't pay any attention. And, going by Par-
son Clarke's, he caught a glimpse of two men talking in the
Parson's front room. One was a tallish, handsomish man in pretty
fine clothes and the other was shorter and untidy, with a kind
of bulldog face. But they were strangers to him and he didn't
really notice them just rode ahead. 

II 

But as soon as he got into Boston he started to feel queerand
it wasn't only his tooth. He hadn't been there in four years and
he'd expected to find it changed, but it wasn't that. It was a
clear enough day and yet he kept feeling there was thunder in
the air. There'd be knots of people, talking and arguing, on
street corners, and then, when you got closer to them, they'd
kind of melt away. Or, if they stayed, they'd look at you, out
of the corners of their eyes. And there, in the Port of Boston,
were the British warships, black and grim. He'd known they'd
be there, of course, but it was different, seeing them. It made
him feel queer to see their guns pointed at the town. He'd known
there was trouble and dispute, in Boston, but the knowledge
had passed ovei? him like rain and hail. But now here he was in 

20 

A Tooth for Paul Revere 

the middle of it and it smelt like earthquake weather. He
couldn't make head or tail of it, but he wanted to be home. 

All the same, he'd come to get his tooth fixed, and, being New
England, he was bound to do it. But first he stopped at a tavern
for a bite and a sup, for it was long past his dinnertime. And
there, it seemed to him, things got even more curious. 

"Nice weather we're having, these days," he said, in a friendly
way, to the barkeep. 

"It's bitter weather for Boston," said the barkeep, in an un-
friendly voice, and a sort of low growl went up from the boys
at the back of the room and every eye fixed on Lige. 

Well, that didn't help the toothache any, but, being a sociable
person, Lige kept on. 

"May be, for Boston," he said, "but out in the country we'd
call it good planting weather." 

The barkeep stared at him hard. 

"I guess I was mistaken in you," he said. "It 15 good planting
weather for some kinds of trees." 

"And what kind of trees were you thinking of?" said a sharp-
faced man at Lige's left and squeezed his shoulder. 

"There's trees and trees, you know," said a red-faced man at
Lige's right, and gave him a dig in the ribs. 

tv Well, now that you ask me" said Lige, but he couldn't even
finish before the red-faced man dug him hard in the ribs again. 

"The liberty tree!" said the red-faced man. "And may it soon
be watered in the blood of tyrants!" 

"The royal oak of England!" said the sharp-faced man. "And
God save King George and loyalty!" 

Well, with that it seemed to Lige Butterwick as if the whole
tavern kind of riz up at him. He was kicked and pummeled and
mauled and thrown into a corner and yanked out of it again,
with the red-faced man and the sharp-faced man and all the
rest of them dancing quadrilles over his prostrate form. Till,
finally, he found himself out in the street with half his coat gone
galley-west. 

"Well," said Lige to himself, "I always heard city folks were
crazy. But politics must be getting serious in these American
colonies when they start fighting about trees!" 

Then he saw the sharp-faced man was beside him, trying to 

21 

Stephen Vincent Benet 

shake his hand. He noticed with some pleasure that the sharp-
faced man had the beginnings of a beautiful black eye. 

"Nobly done, friend," said the sharp-faced man, "and I'm glad
to find another true-hearted loyalist in this pestilent, rebellious
city." 

"Well, I don't know as I quite agree with you about that,"
said Lige. "But I came here to get my tooth fixed, not to talk
politics. And as long as youVe spoken so pleasant, I wonder if
you could help me out. You see, I'm from Lexington way
and I'm looking for a fellow named Paul Revere" 

"Paul Revere!" said the sharp-faced man, as if the name hit
him like a bullet. Then he began to smile again not a pleasant
smile. 

"Oh, it's Paul Revere you want, my worthy and ingenuous
friend from the country," he said. "Well, I'll tell you how to
find him. You go up to the first British soldier you see and ask
the way. But you better give the password first." 

"Password?" said Lige Butterwick, scratching his ear. 

"Yes," said the sharp-faced man, and his smile got wider.
"You say to that British soldier, 'Any lobsters for sale today?'
Then you ask about Revere." 

"But why do I talk about lobsters first?" said Lige Butterwick,
kind of stubborn. 

"Well, you see," said the sharp-faced man, "the British soldiers
wear red coats. So they like being asked about lobsters. Try it
and see." And he went away, with his shoulders shaking. 

Well, that seemed queer to Lige Butterwick, but no queerer
than the other things that had happened that day. All the same,
he didn't quite trust the sharp-faced man, so he took care not
to come too close to the British patrol when he asked them
about the lobsters. And it was lucky he did, for no sooner were
the words out of his mouth than the British soldiers took after
him and chased him clear down to the wharves before he could
get away. At that, he only managed it by hiding in an empty
tar-barrel, and when he got out he was certainly a sight for sore
eyes. 

"Well, I guess that couldn't have been the right password,"
he said to himself, kind of grimly, as he tried to rub off some
of the tar. "All the same, I don't think soldiers ought to act like
that when you ask them a civil question. But, city folks or sol- 

22 

A Tooth for Paul Revere 

diers, they can't make a fool out of me. I came here to get my
tooth fixed and get it fixed I will, if I have to surprise the whole
British Empire to do it." 

And just then he saw a sign on a shop at the end of the wharf.
And, according to my great-aunt, this was what was on the
sign. It said "PAUL REVERE, SILVERSMITH" at the top, and then,
under it, in smaller letters, "Large and small bells cast to order,
engraving and printing done in job lots, artificial teeth sculptured
and copper boilers mended, all branches of goldsmith and silver-
smith work and revolutions put up to take out. Express Service,
Tuesdays and Fridays, to Lexington, Concord and Points West." 

"Well," said Lige Butterwick, "kind of a Jack-of-all-trades.
Now maybe I can get my tooth fixed." And he marched up to the
door. 

Ill 

Paul Revere was behind the counter when Lige came in, turn-
ing a silver bowl over and over in his hands. A man of forty-odd
he was, with a quick, keen face and snapping eyes. He was wear-
ing Boston clothes, but there was a French look about him for
his father was Apollos Rivoire from the island of Guernsey, and
good French Huguenot stock. They'd changed the name to
Revere when they crossed the water. 

It wasn't such a big shop, but it had silver pieces in it that
people have paid thousands for, since. And the silver pieces
weren't all. There were prints and engravings of the Port of
Boston and caricatures of the British and all sorts of goldsmith
work, more than you could put a name to. It was a 'crowded
place, but shipshape. And Paul Revere moved about it, quick and
keen, with his eyes full of life and hot temperthe kind of man
who knows what he wants to do and does it the next minute. 

There were quite a few customers there when Lige Butter-
wick first came in so he sort of scrooged back in a corner and
waited his chance. For one thing, after the queer sign and the
barber's calling him a wizard, he wanted to be sure about this
fellow, Revere, and see what kind of customers came to his shop. 

Well, there was a woman who wanted a christening mug for
a baby and a man who wanted a print of the Boston Massacre.
And then there was a fellow who passed Revere some sort of
message, under cover Lige caught the whisper, "powder" and 

Stephen Vincent Benet 

"Sons of Liberty," though he couldn't make out the rest. And,
finally, there was a very fine silk-dressed lady who seemed to
be giving Revere considerable trouble. Lige peeked at her round
the corner of his chair, and, somehow or other, she reminded
him of a turkey-gobbler, especially the strut. 

She was complaining about some silver that Paul Revere had
made for her expensive silver it must have been. And "Oh,
Master Revere, Fm so disappointed!" she was saying. "When
I took the things from the box, I could just have cried!" 

Revere drew himself up a little at that, Lige noticed, but his
voice was pleasant. 

"It is I who am disappointed, madam," he said, with a little
bow. "But what was the trouble? It must have been carelessly
packed. Was it badly dented? I'll speak to my boy." 

"Oh no, it wasn't dented," said the turkey-gobbler lady. "But
I wanted a really impressive silver service something I can use
when the Governor comes to dinner with us. I certainly paid
for the best. And what have you given me?" 

Lige waited to hear what Paul Revere would say. When he
spoke, his voice was stiff. 

"I have given you the best work of which I am capable,
madam," he said. "It was in my hands for six months and I
think they are skillful hands." 

"Oh," said the woman, and rustled her skirts. "I know you're
a competent artisan, Master Revere" 

"Silversmith, if you please" said Paul Revere, and the woman
rustled again. 

"Well, I don't care what you call it," she said, and then you
could see her fine accent was put on like her fine clothes. "But
I know I wanted a real service something I could show my
friends. And what have you given me? Oh, it's silver, if you
choose. But it's just as plain and simple as a picket fence!" 

Revere looked at her for a moment and Lige Butterwick
thought he'd explode. 

"Simple?" he said. "And plain? You pay me high compliments,
madam! " 

"Compliments indeed!" said the woman, and now she was get-
ting furious. "I'm sending it back tomorrow! Why, there isn't
as much as a lion or a unicorn on the cream jug. And I told you
I wanted the sugar bowl covered with silver grapes! But you've 

A Tooth for Paul Revere 

given me something as bare as the hills of New England! And
I won't stand it, I tell you! I'll send to England instead." 

Revere puffed his cheeks and blew, but his eyes were dan-
gerous. 

"Send away, madam," he said. "We're making new things in
this country new men new silver perhaps, who knows, a new
nation. Plain, simple, bare as the hills and rocks of New Eng-
landgraceful as the boughs of her elm trees if my silver were
only like that indeed! But that is what I wish to make it. And,
as for you, madam," he stepped toward her like a cat, "with
your lions and unicorns and grape leaves and your nonsense of
bad ornament done by bad silversmiths your imported bad
taste and your imported British manners puff!" And he blew
at her, just the way you blow at a turkey-gobbler, till she fairly
picked up her fine silk skirts and ran. Revere watched her out
of the door and turned back, shaking his head. 

"William!" he called to the boy who helped him in the shop.
"Put up the shutters we're closing for the day. And William
no word yet from Dr. Warren?" 

"Not yet, sir," said the boy, and started to put up the shutters.
Then Lige Butterwick thought it was about time to make his
presence known. 

So he coughed, and Paul Revere whirled and Lige Butterwick
felt those quick, keen eyes boring into his. He wasn't exactly
afraid of them, for he was stubborn himself, but he knew this
was an unexpected kind of man. 

"Well, my friend," said Revere, impatiently, "and who in the
world are you?" 

"Well, Mr. Revere," said Lige Butterwick. "It is Mr. Revere,
isn't it? It's kind of a long story. But, closing or not, you've got
to listen to me. The barber told me so." 

"The barber!" said Revere, kind of dumbfounded. 

"Uh-huh," said Lige, and opened his mouth. "You see, it's my
tooth." 

"Tooth!" said Revere, and stared at him as if they were both
crazy. "You'd better begin at the beginning. But wait a minute.
You don't talk like a Boston man. Where do you come from?" 

"Oh, around Lexington way," said Lige. "And, you see" 

But the mention of Lexington seemed to throw Revere into a
regular excitement. He fairly shook Lige by the shoulders. 

Stephen Vincent Benet 

"Lexington!" he said. "Were you there this morning?" 

"Of course I was," said Lige. "That's where the barber I told
you about " 

"Never mind the barber!" said Revere. "Were Mr. Hancock
and Mr. Adams still at Parson Clarke's?" 

"Well, they might have been, for all I know," said Lige. "But
I couldn't say." 

"Great heaven!" said Revere. "Is there a man in the American
colonies who doesn't know Mr. Hancock and Mr. Adams?" 

"There seems to be me," said Lige. "But, speaking of strangers
there was two of them staying at the parsonage, when I rode
past. One was a handsomish man and the other looked more like
a bulldog-" 

"Hancock and Adams!" said Revere. "So they are still there."
He took a turn or two up and down the room. "And the British
ready to march!" he muttered to himself. "Did you see many
soldiers as you came to my shop, Mr. Butterwick?" 

"See them?" said Lige. "They chased me into a tar-barrel. And
there was a whole passel of them up by the Common with guns
and flags. Looked as if they meant business." 

Revere took his hand and pumped it up and down. 

"Thank you, Mr. Butterwick," he said. "You're a shrewd ob-
server. And you have done me and the colonies an invaluable
service." 

"Well, that's nice to know," said Lige. "But, speaking about
this tooth of mine" 

Revere looked at him and laughed, while his eyes crinkled. 

"You're a stubborn man, Mr. Butterwick," he said. "All the
better. I like stubborn men. I wish we had more of them. Well,
one good turn deserves another-you've helped me and I'll do
my best to help you. I've made artificial teeth-but drawing them
is hardly my trade. All the same, I'll do what I can for you." 

So Lige sat down in a chair and opened his mouth. 

"Whew!" said Revere, with his eyes dancing. His voice grew
solemn. "Mr. Butterwick," he said, "it seems to be a compound,
agglutinated infraction of the upper molar. I'm afraid I can't do
anything about it tonight." 

"But-" said Lige. 

"But here's a draught-that will ease the pain for a while," 

26 

A Tooth -for Paul Revere 

said Revere, and poured some medicine into a cup. "Drink!" he
said, and Lige drank. The draught was red and spicy, with a
queer, sleepy taste, but pungent. It wasn't like anything Lige
had ever tasted before, but he noticed it eased the pain. 

"There," said Revere. "And now you go to a tavern and get
a good night's rest. Come back to see me in the morning I'll
find a tooth-drawer for you, if I'm here. Andoh yes you'd
better have some liniment." 

He started to rummage in a big cupboard at the back of the
shop. It was dark now, with the end of day and the shutters
up, and whether it was the tooth, or the tiredness, or the draught
Paul Revere had given him, Lige began to feel a little queer.
There was a humming in his head and a lightness in his feet.
He got up and stood looking over Paul Revere's shoulder, and
it seemed to him that things moved and scampered in that cup-
board in a curious way, as Revere's quick nngers took down
this box and that. And the shop was full of shadows and mur-
murings. 

"It's a queer kind of shop you've got here, Mr. Revere," he
said, glad to hear the sound of his own voice. 

"Well, some people think so," said Revere and that time Lige
was almost sure he saw something move in the cupboard. He
coughed. "Say what's in that little bottle?" he said, to keep his
mind steady. 

"That?" said Paul Revere, with a smile, and held the bottle
up. "Oh, that's a little chemical experiment of mine. I call it
Essence of Boston. But there's a good deal of East Wind in it." 

"Essence of Boston," said Lige, with his eyes bulging. "Well,
they did say you was a wizard. It's gen-u-wine magic, I sup-
pose?" 

"Genuine magic, of course," said Revere, with a chuckle. "And
here's the box with your liniment. And here" 

He took down two little boxes a silver and a pewter one
and placed them on the counter. But Lige's eyes went to the sil-
ver one they were drawn to it, though he couldn't have told
you why. 

"Pick it up," said Paul Revere, and Lige did so and turned it
in his hands. It was a handsome box. He could make out a grow-
ing tree and an eagle fighting a lion. "It's mighty pretty work,"
he said. 

Stephen Vincent Benet 

"It's my own design," said Paul Revere. "See the stars around
the edgethirteen ot them? You could make a very pretty de-
sign with stars for a new country, say if you wanted to I've
sometimes thought of it.' 7 

"But what's in it?" said Lige. 

"What's in it?" said Paul Revere, and his voice was light but
steely. "Why, what's in the air around us? Gunpowder and war
and the making of a new nation. But the time isn't quite ripe yet
not quite ripe." 

"You mean," said Lige, and he looked at the box very respect-
ful, "that this-here revolution folks keep talking about" 

"Yes," said Paul Revere, and he was about to go on. But just
then his boy ran in, with a letter in his hand. 

"Master!" he said. "A message from Dr. Warren!" 

IV 

Well, with that Revere started moving, and, when he started
to move, he moved fast. He was calling for his riding boots in
one breath and telling Lige Butterwick to come back tomorrow
in another and, what with all the bustle and confusion, Lige
Butterwick nearly went off without his liniment after all. But
he grabbed up a box from the counter, just as Revere was prac-
tically shoving him out of the door and it wasn't till he'd got
to his tavern and gone to bed for the night that he found out
he'd taken the wrong box. 

He found it out then because, when he went to bed, he couldn't
get to sleep. It wasn't his tooth that bothered him that had
settled to a kind of dull ache and he could have slept through
that. But his mind kept going over all the events of the day
the two folks he'd seen at Parson Clarke's and being chased by
the British and what Revere had said to the turkey-gobbler
woman till he couldn't get any peace. He could feel some-
thing stirring in him, though he didn't know what it was. 

" 'Tain't right to have soldiers chase a fellow down the street,"
he said to himself. "And 'tain't right to have people like that
woman run down New England. No, it ain't. Oh me I better
look for that liniment of Mr. Revere's." 

So he got up from his bed and went over and found his coat. 

28 

A Tooth for Paul Revere 

Then he reached his hand in the pocket and pulled out the silver
box. 

Well, at first he was so flustrated that he didn't know rightly
what to do. For here, as well as he could remember it, was gun-
powder and war and the makings of a new nation the revolution
itself, shut up in a silver box by Paul Revere. He mightn't have
believed there could be such things before he came to Boston.
But now he did. 

The draught was still humming in his head, and his legs felt
a mite wobbly. But, being human, he was curious. "Now, I won-
der what is inside that box," he said. 

He shook the box and handled it, but that seemed to make it
warmer, as if there was something alive inside it, so he stopped
that mighty quick. Then he looked all over it for a keyhole, but
there wasn't any keyhole, and, if there had been, he didn't have
a key. 

Then he put his ear to the box and listened hard. And it seemed
to him that he heard, very tiny and far away, inside the box,
the rolling fire of thousands of tiny muskets and the tiny, far-
away cheers of many men. "Hold your fire!" he heard a voice
say. "Don't fire till you're fired on but, if they want a war, let it
begin here!" And then there was a rolling of drums and a squeal
of fifes. It was small, still, and far away, but it made him shake
all over, for he knew he was listening to something in the future
and something that he didn't have a right to hear. He sat down
on the edge of his bed, with the box in his hands. 

"Now, what am I going to do with this?" he said. "It's too big
a job for one man." 

Well, he thought, kind of scared, of going down to the river
and throwing the box in, but, when he thought of doing it, he
knew he couldn't. Then he thought of his farm near Lexington
and the peaceful days. Once the revolution was out of the box,
there 'd be an end to that. But then he remembered what Revere
had said when he was talking with the woman about the silver
the thing about building a new country and building it clean
and plain. "Why, I'm not a Britisher," he thought. "I'm a New
Englander. And maybe there's something beyond that some-
thing people like Hancock and Adams know about. And, if it
has to come with a revolution well, I guess it has to come. We
can't stay Britishers forever, here in this country." 

Stephen Vincent Eenet 

He listened to the box again, and now there wasn't any shoot-
ing in it just a queer tune played on a fife. He didn't know the
name of the tune, but it lifted his heart. 

He got up, sort of slow and heavy. "I guess I'll have to take
this back to Paul Revere," he said. 

Well, the first place he went was Dr. Warren's, having heard
Revere mention it, but he didn't get much satisfaction there. It
took quite a while to convince them that he wasn't a spy, and,
when he did, all they'd tell him was that Revere had gone over
the river to Charlestown. So he went down to the waterfront
to look for a boat. And the first person he met was a very angry
woman. 

"No," she said, "you don't get any boats from me. There was
a crazy man along here an hour ago and he wanted a boat, too,
and my husband was crazy enough to take him. And then, do you
know what he did?" 

"No, mam," said Lige Butterwick. 

"He made my husband take my best petticoat to muffle the
oars so they wouldn't make a splash when they went past that
Britisher ship," she said, pointing out where the man-of-war
Somerset lay at anchor. "My best petticoat, I tell you! And when
my husband comes back he'll get a piece of my mind!" 

"Was his name Revere?" said Lige Butterwick. "Was he a
man of forty-odd, keen-looking and kind of Frenchy?" 

"I don't know what his right name is," said the woman, "but
his name's mud with me. My best petticoat tore into strips and
swimming in that nasty river!" And that was all he could get
out of her. 

All the same, he managed to get a boat at last the story doesn't
say how and row across the river. The tide was at young flood
and the moonlight bright on the water, and he passed under the
shadow of the Somerset, right where Revere had passed. When
he got to the Charlestown side, he could see the lanterns in
North Church, though he didn't know what they signified. Then
he told the folks at Charlestown he had news for Revere and
they got him a horse and so he started to ride. And, all the while,
the silver box was burning his pocket. 

Well, he lost his way more or less^ as you well might in the
darkness, and it was dawn when he came into Lexington by a 

30 

A Tooth for Paul Revere 

side road. The dawn in that country's pretty, with the dew still
on the grass. But he wasn't looking at the dawn. He was feeling
the box burn his pocket and thinking hard. 

Then, all of a sudden, he reined up his tired horse. For there,
on the side road, were two men carrying a trunkand one of
them was Paul Revere. 

They looked at each other and Lige began to grin. For Revere
was just as dirty and mud-splashed as he was he'd warned Han-
cock and Adams all right, but then, on his way to Concord, he'd
got caught by the British and turned loose again. So he'd gone
back to Lexington to see how things were there and now he and
the other fellow were saving a trunk of papers that Hancock
had left behind, so they wouldn't fall into the hands of the
British. 

Lige swung off his horse. "Well, Mr. Revere," he said, "you
see, I'm on time for that little appointment about my tooth. And,
by the way, I've got something for you." He took the box from
his pocket. And then he looked over toward Lexington Green
and caught his breath. For, on the Green, there was a little line
of Minute Men neighbors of his, as he knew and, in front of
them, the British regulars. And, even as he looked, there was
the sound of a gunshot, and, suddenly, smoke wrapped the front
of the British line and he heard them shout as they ran forward. 

Lige Butterwick took the silver box and stamped on it with
his heel. And with that the box broke openand there was a
dazzle in his eyes for a moment and a noise of men shouting
and then it was gone. 

u Do you know what you've done?" said Revere. "You've let
out the American Revolution!" 

"Well," said Lige Butterwick, "I guess it was about time. And
I guess I'd better be going home, now. I've got a gun on the
wall there. And I'll need it." 

"But what about your tooth?" said Paul Revere. 

"Oh, a tooth's a tooth," said Lige Butterwick. "But a country's
a country. And, anyhow, it's stopped aching." 

All the same, they say Paul Revere made a silver tooth for him,
after the war. But my great-aunt wasn't quite sure of it, so I
won't vouch for that.