The Indian raids had told heavily upon the colonists in the region of the Piscataqua. Scattered gardens had been devastated; homes built by great effort had been destroyed in a night; family circles had been broken by death, or by capture, and the colony had suffered the loss of strong young men who were its mainstay.

John Stevens had been crippled by the tomahawk of an Indian; his whole family and that of his brother had been swept out of existence by the same cruel hands, and all that was left was his home and one little nephew, David.

"This country is ours now, David, and we must hold it," he would say to the manly little fellow, who was already facing the responsibilities of life, though with arms too young to swing the axe or to steady the plough.

Glancing at the sturdy little boy, John Stevens, unable to leave his chair, looked through the open doorway to his cleared land and his forests, and wondered how, to say nothing of protecting the country, he could keep the boy and himself alive. "David," he cried on sudden thought, "the garden shall be yours and the forest mine. We will each do what we can. I still have a strong arm left to me and a sharp knife. The red oaks can be felled and sawed at the mill. Here in my chair with my knife I can shape the short boards into hogshead staves. The town accepts them for taxes at twenty-five shillings a thousand."

"Perhaps," added David, "Mr. Cutt, the merchant, will have use for some."

Together the man and the boy, before the open door, planned for the coming days until the twilight had settled into night.

The simple home was remote, and neighbors rarely dropped in. David took the necessary trips to the Bank, as the upper end of the town by the river was still called, or to the South End, where the Great House stood with many smaller homes of the town to the south of it. Always the little boy started with this injunction:

"Learn all you can, David, of town affairs. Inquire about the doings of the General Court. This is our country, David, and we must know what happens."

The cutting of staves proved to be a means of meeting their simple daily needs. The abundant forests everywhere prevented a demand for the shipment of staves to other ports; so it was an exultant David who came home one fall day with the word that Mr. John Cutt, the wealthy merchant of Portsmouth, wanted all the staves John Stevens could make. They had proved the best of the kind that Mr. Cutt had yet found. With the little that David could do on the garden the two managed to make a living. Yet all this effort to live was held before David as a small matter compared with the life of the country.

"You must remember, David," his uncle impressed upon him, "that the country must live whether we are here or not, and its life, lad, depends upon what we can do for it while we are here."

With this quickened interest in the big country, of which he could see so small a part, David returned from town early in January of 1680, with stirring news for his uncle.

"Listen to this, Uncle John," he cried, excitedly, "Our King in England has seen fit to separate New Hampshire from the government of Massachusetts, and he has appointed our Mr. John Cutt as President. The Royal Charter is already here!"

John Stevens leaned forward, as if to grasp the thought.

"Say it again, David, every word." Then, after the boy had repeated the news, his uncle slowly shook his head.

"It is a heavy responsibility for us, lad. We have but four small towns in New Hampshire. Yet I have confidence in the honored gentleman appointed to lead us."

Actually to withdraw from the rule of Massachusetts required time, during which period David never returned home without bringing some interesting news. One day it was, "Uncle John, Portsmouth has seventy-one men who can vote; Dover has sixty-one; Hampton, fifty-seven; and Exeter, twenty." At another time he announced, "There is to be an important meeting in March, to which every town of New Hampshire is to send three representatives except Exeter, which sends two."

On the 16th of March, the day of the General Assembly, John Stevens sent the boy off to town for the whole day.

"Learn everything for me, David," was his parting command. "Do not miss a thing. And David," he added, impressively, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder, "Remember always that this is your New Hampshire." Then he counted the hours for the boy's return.

When David reached the town he found three other boys of his own age eagerly watching for a sight of the gentlemen attending the Assembly. Choosing an advantageous spot on the roadside, David and his companions swung themselves to the low, spreading branches of an oak, where they patiently waited.

"Here they come," called Sam Cutt, who had already seen these gentlemen arrive at his father's house.

As the solemn procession of representatives from New Hampshire's four small towns passed on their way to the meeting-house, David slid from his branch to the ground and in an erect position bared his head and held his hat to his heart until they had passed.

"Oh, see the sissy!" cried one boy from the tree, pointing to David, when the riders had moved along. David's face flushed, but with unusual self-command he replied.

"Did you not know that those men are taking care of our province, which is yet very small, and that this is for us all a very serious and important meeting that they are attending?"

The surprised boys who had expected to see David slink away, slid down from the branches, caught with interest in what he continued to tell them of town and even state affairs. They asked questions which he could answer. "Now I tell you," he added with authority, "you must remember always that this is your New Hampshire." David's knowledge of his country had so deeply impressed and interested the boys that, when the General Assembly adjourned, four hatless lads stood in respect as the members passed, who honored them with a salute.

When, at the close of the day, David reached home he threw off his coat and warmed his hands by the fire exclaiming.

"You should have seen the dignified gentlemen, uncle. There were a dozen or more of them who rode from Mr. Cutt's estate to the meeting-house. They wore fine clothes, and swords at their sides, and shining buckles on their shoes and knee bands. The Rev. Mr. Moody preached a sermon to them after he had offered a long prayer. Then the gentlemen voted to write a letter to the General Court of Massachusetts. Sam Cutt told me all about it. He had asked his father what had happened there. And, uncle, in this letter they thanked the Court for the care and kindness given us while we were under its rule. They explained that we did not seek this change. It was only because it was the King's wish that we were willing to accept the plan. Then they begged the Court for the benefit of its prayers and blessing in this separation. Sam said that it was all very solemn. Uncle," David continued, after a pause, "I kept feeling all day long, 'This is my New Hampshire!'"