granted permission to speak.

"I'll tell you, Excellency," he cried, warmly. "I've been plaguing and tormenting the lad and for no fault of his own. I never saw a Jew in my whole life before I joined the army, but I'd heard tales of them; cowards and afraid of their own shadows. And I teased the boy, never knowing he'd mind, and when he did I just kept on to spite him. And when he threatened to fight me, I wanted to laugh, for you can see for yourself, Excellency, that I'm taller and broader than he and could toss him about if I'd a mind to. But he wasn't afraid and if you hadn't come up, he'd have tried to fight me all the same." He paused for breath, smiling broadly, and held out his hand to Franks. "It's all my fault, Your Excellency, and I'm willing to take what I ought to for it, but first let me shake hands with him and tell him such a game cock ought to've been born an Irishman and no mistake."

The general smiled as the two clasped hands. Then: "I am sorry I was disorderly, Your Excellency," apologized Franks. "I would have tried to forget a personal insult but I could not stand by and allow my people to be slandered. But I know now that he did not understand."

"It takes a long time for some of us to understand, my boy," answered the general slowly, and, so thought Isaac, a little sadly, too. "But some day, God grant it, we will all understand the words you both have heard today and America will know no distinction of race, creed or station—only the worth that makes a man." He turned suddenly to Tim Durgan. "You come of a fighting breed, my man," he said warmly, "and just now when you confessed your fault you showed true courage. I need fighters as strong as your Irish ancestors; learn to fight only for our country and forget your petty quarrels and prejudices." He placed a kindly hand on Isaac's shoulder. "And a boy who is as loyal a Jew as you, must be a loyal American. I hope you will always carry yourself as honorably as you did today. What is your name, my lad?"

"Isaac Franks, sir," answered the boy, flushing beneath his commander's praise.

"Isaac Franks of this city?"

"Yes, sir. I have always lived in New York and I enlisted here."

"Then you must be the boy of whom Colonel Lescher spoke to me. He said that you were so eager to serve that you even bought your own uniform and field equipment. I expect to hear from you again." He was about to pass on, then paused to add kindly: "And since this is a holiday afternoon, why not spend it abroad instead of wrangling here. Now," with a slight smile, "my Hebrew David and my Irish Jonathan, be off with you; and hereafter keep your blows for the British," he added, half jestingly, as he walked off, leaving the two lads staring somewhat sheepishly at each other as they strolled a little apart from the others.

Tim was the first to speak. "It was great of you not to tell when he asked you," he said warmly. "And if I can ever make up to you for what I said about Jews—" which proves that Tim Durgan never made a foe or a friend by halves.

"We'll forget all about that," answered Franks lightly. "But we've wasted a good part of the afternoon already. Let's take a long walk and drink to our friendship in some good brown ale. I know a tavern near Bowling Green where there's always jolly company and a full measure for a men in uniform."

Chatting idly together, the two began their walk through the camp, passing rapidly down the crowded streets. There was a great stir in the city, for the storm clouds of hate against the British ruler which had been gathering for so many months had suddenly burst at the news of the signing of the Declaration at Philadelphia, and the air was heavy with protests of loyalty to the new government, and threats against King George. So when Tim and Isaac reached Bowling Green it was an excited crowd that they found there, gathered about the leaden statue of King George III; men and half-grown boys, with here and there a soldier enjoying his half-holiday.

"One would think the British were already here," Tim growled goodnaturedly. "If these merchants would stop cackling together like the hens in my father's poultry yard at home, and shoulder a gun, we'd drive Master George's tin soldiers and the Hessians back across the water so quick they'd hardly know they'd been here at all."

From the confused murmur of many voices came one rumbling cry which the boys caught and smiled to hear: "Down with King George! We are free men. Down with King George!"

A thin little man in a black coat elbowed his way to the base of the statue from which vantage point he tried to address the crowd. "Friends," he quavered, as the uproar died, the idle mob ever ready for some new amusement, "friends, don't be too rash. Look before you leap. We are only a handful of untrained farmers and merchants. The armies of King George——"

But before he could speak further, the crowd suddenly broke lose with: "Another cursed Tory! He is in the King's hire!—Drag him down!—Hang him to a tree to teach other Tories and traitors to hold their tongues!"

The suggestion was like a fire brand to dry timber. Before the two soldiers on the outskirts of the crowd could fully realized what had happened, a stout apprentice lad in a leather apron had procured a rope which another brawny fellow flung around the Tory's neck. He tried to plead for mercy but his voice was silenced by the howling of the mob, so desperate in its rage against the king that they sought blind vengeance on their victim for daring to speak in his behalf.

Isaac started forward, his face white and tense. "Come, Tim," he cried, "We must make them set him free."

The Irishman shrugged. "A Tory more or less! Let them hang him and welcome."

Isaac Franks did not answer. He only pushed his way through the mob, the crowd giving place to his uniform. He knew he could do nothing against them single-handed; yet he felt that he could not let this innocent man die. And, curiously enough, he thought less of the Tory's fate than the shame that would fall upon the people of his native city, if they committed such a crime in their reckless fury. He neared the front where several older and cooler citizens stood trying in vain to persuade the angry patriots to release the Tory. Then a splendid thought flashed through his quick mind, and springing lightly upon the leaden statue, he cried in a ringing voice: "I come from General Washington."