people were lovers of peace, even as your's have been for so long."

Benjamin ran to his father. "Father," he cried, "the good gentleman gave me warm milk to drink and bread to eat and this fine cloak to wear," and he proudly smoothed the robe wrapped about his chilled limbs.

The man in gray motioned Reuben to sit beside the table and placed food and drink before him. Half-famished, Reuben ate and drank, almost fearing that it would disappear as a feast sometimes does in a dream. For surely he was dreaming: when in all his wretched wandering life, had people not of his own religion given him food and shelter and received him with gentle words?

His host sat upon the couch, holding Benjamin upon his knee. Now and then he spoke to the dark, haughty man who sat watching everything lazily from beneath his half-closed lids. Twice he asked Reuben whether he desired more food or drink. At last when the guest had satisfied his hunger, the host asked him from what place he had come and to what spot he meant to journey when the storm was over.

"I know not," answered the Jew. "My father's family was driven from Spain. They fled to Brazil, and later settled in Cayenne, where among our brethren from Holland we found a resting place until the French destroyed our homes and drove us forth to be wanderers on the face of the earth. When this child's mother died, I longed to go to a far country where I might forget my grief a little and begin life anew. So I took my son and came here with other voyagers to your colony of New Amsterdam. But there they gave me no welcome, because I was a Jew;—even in this new country some there are who hate the children of Jacob." He leaned forward, his thin face alight with a wistful hope. "But there they told me of a new colony in the far wilderness,—a colony where men of every race, of every creed, were welcome. Far off in the swamps and forests, they said, a man named Roger Williams had established a refuge for all those who were persecuted and despised, and had proclaimed that no man would be troubled there for the sake of his religion, that each inhabitant might worship the God of his fathers in peace. So I took my staff again and my burden upon my back and my little child within my arms, and set out for this place where my son might grow up a free man, and not be called upon to forsake the faith for which we suffered in Spain."

The man in the velvet coat leaned across the table and spoke to Reuben in Spanish. "I, too, came from Spain," he said, "and I, too, came as a refugee; yea, with a price upon my head, for I had been denounced to the officers of the Inquisition and was doomed to die. Yet I am a good Catholic and loyal, and did not deserve their hatred. Those who are not of my faith in this new land mistrust and despise me; but here, in the colony of Rhode Island, I may follow the religion of my fathers, and Roger Williams has given me his hand in brotherhood."

The quiet man rose and again held out his hand to the Jewish wanderer. "And now I give my hand to you," he said, heartily. "My colony of Rhode Island has need of men strong enough to die—yes, and to live—for the faith they will be allowed to follow here in peace and in safety."

But Reuben had caught his hand and pressed it to his heart. "You are Roger Williams, the friend of the oppressed," he said brokenly.

"Yes," answered Williams, "and this day have you found a refuge with me and my people." A look of solemn hope lighted his gentle eyes. "'Tis but a lonely spot in the wilderness, and we are few in number; but some day this wide land will be a refuge to the oppressed of every nation, and all those who are persecuted and despised will find a home within its borders."

Little by little, the winds outside ceased to drive the snow against the trees; the branches no longer tossed and creaked in the gale; a great white hush seemed to bless the quiet earth. The Spaniard who had walked to the window blew out the taper and pointed toward the rosy clouds. "Dawn is breaking," he said softly, and, bowing reverently above his rosary, began to tell the beads as he recited his morning prayer. Williams took a large Bible from the shelf above the couch, opened it, and, having read his morning psalm, covered his face with his hands as he knelt beside his chair to pray. With a great joy warming his heart, Reuben, no longer a wanderer on the face of the earth, put his arm about his son, and drew him to the window that he might look upon the land that his children's children and those who came after them were to inherit as their home. Then he drew his faded, tattered talith (shawl worn in prayer) from his pack, put it about his shoulders, and, facing the glowing east, the home land of his fathers, he praised the God of Israel who had brought him to this place of refuge. "Ma tobu oholekha" ("How goodly are thy tents"), prayed Reuben, and he sobbed like a child.

"DOWN WITH KING GEORGE!"ToC

How Isaac Franks, of the American Army, first heard the Declaration of Independence.

The news had spread like wild-fire that day in early July, 1776. Although there was not one of the American recruits stationed in New York under General Washington's command who had not heard something of the great happenings in Philadelphia a few days before, every soldier felt his heart beat faster under his buff and blue coat at the thought that he, too, would hear the Declaration of Independence read before the army. They stood waiting in their ranks, the first army of the Republic: raw farmers like those who fell at Lexington, bronzed backwoodsmen whose rifles had brought more than one lurking red-skin or savage forest beast to earth, with here and there a student, fresh from his books, or a merchant who had left his desk to fight for his country. And today they were to hear, stated simply and eloquently for all time, for what principles they fought.

In the ranks stood a slender, dark-browed boy of about seventeen. The muster roll gave his name as Isaac Franks, the simple record holding no promise of the day when the Jewish boy, a distinguished veteran of the Revolution, should entertain President Washington as his guest. Today young Franks stood undistinguished among the other eager patriots and the future president was only the leader of an army of untrained "rebels", knowing full well that a traitor's death awaited him if his campaign against the British proved unsuccessful.

"I wish the general would come that we might hear the document and be dismissed," remarked Franks to the soldier who stood at his side; a tall, raw-boned youth about his own age. "This hot sun is enough to melt granite and we have been assembled for almost two hours."

The other, also wearied and over-heated, looked him over with a sneer. "A fine soldier with your complaints!" was his jeering comment. "I wonder to see a Jew in our ranks, but you'll not cumber us long, I'm thinking. You Jews are fit only for trading and money lending—not fighting. You'll melt away quickly enough in the heat of your first battle."

"Listen to me, Tim Durgan," retorted Franks, quietly enough, but with a dangerous sparkle in his eyes. "I've endured your sneering ever since I came to camp and I'm growing weary of it, too. I didn't know why you wouldn't be friends with me, when I've never done anything to offend you; but if it's because I'm a Jew—"

"I want no Hebrew coward for a friend of mine," was the surly answer.