“No; but we bag other game once in a while,” said Dolly’s cousin, young Edward Livingston, pushing his way to her side. “We bag turncoats, and thieves, and murthering runagates sometimes, even in ‘free America’; and we know what to do with them when we do bag them. Friends,” he cried, turning to the crowd, “do you know this fellow? He’s a greater prize than the little Phillipse. ’Tis Big Jake of the Saw-mill--a ‘skinner’ one day and a ‘cow-boy’ next, as it suits his fancy and as it brings him booty. I know him, and so does the water-guard. I am Livingston, of Clermont Manor. Let down the lad, man, or we’ll turn you over to the town-major. He’d like rarely to have a chance at you.” The crowd uttered a cry of rage as it closed excitedly around the burly member of the lawless gang that had preyed upon the defenceless people of the lower Hudson during the years of war and raid. The bully paled at the sound, and loosed his hold upon the little Phillipse. Without waiting to see the issue, young Livingston dragged the “little lord” from the throng, while his companion, Master Clinton, hurried Dolly along, and they were soon free from the crowd that was dealing roughly enough with Big Jake of the Saw-mill. “Now, Dolly, let us go back to the farm before we get into further trouble,” said Cousin Ned, a pleasant young fellow of eighteen, who looked upon himself as the lawful protector of “the children.” “But what shall we do with our little lord of the manor, Cousin Ned?” asked Dolly. “The safest plan is to take him with us,” he replied. “Oh, no, sir; no,” pleaded the little boy. “We sail to-day with Sir Guy Carleton, and what will grandfather do without me?” And then he told them how, early that morning, he had slipped away from Angevine, Colonel Phillipse’s body-servant, passed through the barriers and strolled up the Bowery lane to see the “rebel soldiers”; how he had lost his way in the crowd, and was in sore distress and danger until Dolly interfered; and how he thanked them “over and over again” for protecting him. But “Oh, please, I must go back to my grandfather,” he added. Little Mistress Dolly had a mind of her own, and she warmly championed the cause of the “lost little lord,” as she called him. “Cousin Ned,” she said, “of course he must go to his grandfather, and of course we must take him. Think how I should feel if they tried to keep me from my father!” and Dolly’s sympathetic eyes filled at the dreadful thought. “But how can we take him?” asked Cousin Ned. “How can we get past the barriers?”