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Updated: June 19, 2025
Had I not known it, I would have risked a shot from you before allowing myself to be captured." From the belfry of the meetinghouse the bell was sending its peals far and wide over fields and woodlands. "Do you not hear it? The town is alarmed," said Revere. "Rub-a-dub-dub! rub-a-dub-dub! rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub-dub!" It was the drummer beating the long roll.
He rose and went towards the window, which commanded a very near view of the high-road, and he was followed by his guests. The drum advanced, beating no measured martial tune, but a kind of rub-a-dub-dub, like that with which the fire-drum startles the slumbering artisans of a Scotch burgh.
Robin laughed in spite of her disapproval of Beryl's heresy. "There are different kinds of Christmases, Beryl, and I'll show you," she protested, then and there vowing to make the Christmas at the Manor a merry one, in spite of odds. "Well, the nicest thing I know that's going to happen is that Rub-a-dub-dub is going home," retorted Beryl. "That is nice, but there'll be even nicer things.
Meantime, what a hubbub was raised by this scheme! Rub-a-dub-dub! Rub-a-dub-dub! The rattle of drums, beaten out of all manner of time, was heard above every other sound. Nothing now was so valuable as arms, of whatever style and fashion they might be. The bellows blew, and the hammer clanged continually upon the anvil, while the blacksmiths were repairing the broken weapons of other wars.
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