“I am no beggar, you bad man,” cried the child angrily. “I am the little lord of the manor.” “Lord of the manor! Ho, ho, ho!” laughed the big fellow. “Give us grace, your worship,” he said, with mock humility. “Lord of the manor! Look at him, mates,” and he held the struggling little lad toward the laughing crowd. “Why, there are no lords nor manors now in free America, my bantam.” “But I am, I tell you!” protested the boy. “That’s what my grandfather calls me--oh, where is he? Take me to him, please: he calls me the little lord of the manor.” “Who’s your grandfather?” demanded the man. “Who? Why, don’t you know?” the “little lord” asked incredulously. “Everybody knows my grandfather, I thought. He is Colonel Phillipse, Baron of Phillipsbourg, and lord of the manor; and he’ll kill you if you hurt me,” he added defiantly. “Phillipse, the king of Yonckers! Phillipse, the fat old Tory of West Chester! A prize, a prize, mates!” shouted the bully. “What say you? Shall we hold this young bantling hostage for the tainted Tory, his grandfather, and when once we get the old fellow serve him as we did the refugee at Wall-kill t’ other day?” “What did you do?” the crowd asked. “Faith, we tarred and feathered him well, put a hog-yoke on his neck and a cow-bell, too, and then rode him on a rail till he cheered for the Congress.” “Treat my grandfather like that--my good grandfather? You shall not! you dare not!” cried the small Phillipse, with a flood of angry tears, as he struggled and fought in his captor’s clutch. Dolly Duane’s kindly heart was filled with pity at the rough usage of the “little lord.” “Oh, sir,” she said, as she pushed through the crowd and laid her hand on the big bully’s arm, “let the child go. ’Tis unmannerly to treat him as you do, and you’re very, very cruel.” The fellow turned roughly around and looked down into Dolly’s disturbed and protesting face. “What, another of ’em?” he said surlily. “Why, the place is full of little Tories.” “No, no; no Tory I!” said indignant Dolly. “My father is Mr. Duane, and he is no Tory.” “Mr. Duane, of the Congress?” “Give up the lad to the maid.” “Why harm the child?” came mingled voices from the crowd. “What care I for Duane!” said the bully contemptuously. “One man’s as good as another now in free America--isn’t he? Bah! you’re all cowards; but I know when I’ve got a good thing. You don’t bag a Phillipse every day, I’ll warrant you.”