Sir Guy Carleton, K. C. B., commander-in-chief of all His Majesty’s forces in the colonies, stood at the foot of the flag-staff on the northern bastion of Fort George. Before him filed the departing troops of his king, evacuating the pleasant little city they had occupied for more than seven years. “There might be seen,” says one of the old records, “the Hessian, with his towering, brass-fronted cap, moustache colored with the same blacking which colored his shoes, his hair plastered with tallow and flour, and reaching in whip-form to his waist. His uniform was a blue coat, yellow vest and breeches, and black gaiters. The Highlander, with his low checked bonnet, his tartan or plaid, short red coat, his kilt above his knees, and they exposed, his hose short and parti-colored. There were also the grenadiers of Anspach, with towering yellow caps; the gaudy Waldeckers, with their cocked hats edged with yellow scallops; the German yägers, and the various corps of English in glittering and gallant pomp.” The white-capped waves of the beautiful bay sparkled in the sunlight, while the whale-boats, barges, gigs, and launches sped over the water, bearing troops and refugees to the transports, or to the temporary camp on Staten Island. The last act of the evacuation was almost completed. But Sir Guy Carleton looked troubled. His eye wandered from the departing troops at Whitehall slip to the gate at Bowling Green, and then across the parade to the Governor’s gardens and the town beyond. “Well, sir, what word from Colonel Phillipse?” he inquired, as an aide hurried to his side. “He bids you go without him, General,” the aide reported. “The boy is not yet found, but the Colonel says he will risk seizure rather than leave the lad behind.” “It cannot well be helped,” said the British commander. “I will myself dispatch a line to General Washington, requesting due courtesy and safe conduct for Colonel Phillipse and his missing heir. But see--whom have we here?” he asked, as across the parade came a rumbling coach, while behind it a covered cariole came tearing through the gateway. Ere the bastion on which the General stood was reached the cariole drew up with sudden stop. Angevine, the black body-servant, sprang to the horses’ heads, and a very large man hatless, though richly dressed, descended hastily and flung open the door of the coach just as Mistress Dolly was preparing to descend, and as he helped her out he caught in his ample arms the little fellow who followed close at her heels. “Good; the lost is found!” exclaimed Sir Guy, who had been an interested spectator of the pantomime. “All is well, General,” Colonel Phillipse cried joyfully, as the commander came down from the bastion and welcomed the new-comers. “My little lord of the manor is found; and, faith, his loss troubled me more than all the attainder and forfeiture the rebel Congress can crowd upon me.” “But how got he here?” Sir Guy asked.