atue 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."

The magic name hushed the angry crowd. They waited eagerly for the
boy's words.

"I serve the general of the American Army," continued Franks, "and I
am as loyal as any of you, for I carry a gun to defend my country
while you do nothing but cackle, cackle like the hens in a poultry
yard." The crowd, quick to respond to every suggestion, laughed
goodhumoredly at Tim's mocking description which was now standing his
friend in good stead. "And you have as much brains as the hens in a
poultry yard," continued the boy, following his advantage, "for
instead of pulling out the roots of