Little by little, the winds outside ceased to drive the snow against the trees; the branches no longer tossed and creaked in the gale; a great white hush seemed to bless the quiet earth. The Spaniard who had walked to the window blew out the taper and pointed toward the rosy clouds. "Dawn is breaking," he said softly, and, bowing reverently above his rosary, began to tell the beads as he recited his morning prayer. Williams took a large Bible from the shelf above the couch, opened it, and, having read his morning psalm, covered his face with his hands as he knelt beside his chair to pray. With a great joy warming his heart, Reuben, no longer a wanderer on the face of the earth, put his arm about his son, and drew him to the window that he might look upon the land that his children's children and those who came after them were to inherit as their home. Then he drew his faded, tattered _talith_ (shawl worn in prayer) from his pack, put it about his shoulders, and, facing the glowing east, the home land of his fathers, he praised the God of Israel who had brought him to this place of refuge. "_Ma tobu oholekha_" ("How goodly are thy tents"), prayed Reuben, and he sobbed like a child. "DOWN WITH KING GEORGE!" _How Isaac Franks, of the American Army, first heard the Declaration of Independence._ The news had spread like wild-fire that day in early July, 1776. Although there was not one of the American recruits stationed in New York under General Washington's command who had not heard something of the great happenings in Philadelphia a few days before, every soldier felt his heart beat faster under his buff and blue coat at the thought that he, too, would hear the Declaration of Independence read before the army. They stood waiting in their ranks, the first army of the Republic: raw farmers like those who fell at Lexington, bronzed backwoodsmen whose rifles had brought more than one lurking red-skin or savage forest beast to earth, with here and there a student, fresh from his books, or a merchant who had left his desk to fight for his country. And today they were to hear, stated simply and eloquently for all time, for what principles they fought. In the ranks stood a slender, dark-browed boy of about seventeen. The muster roll gave his name as Isaac Franks, the simple record holding no promise of the day when the Jewish boy, a distinguished veteran of the Revolution, should entertain President Washington as his guest. Today young Franks stood undistinguished among the other eager patriots and the future president was only the leader of an army of untrained "rebels", knowing full well that a traitor's death awaited him if his campaign against the British proved unsuccessful. "I wish the general would come that we might hear the document and be dismissed," remarked Franks to the soldier who stood at his side; a tall, raw-boned youth about his own age. "This hot sun is enough to melt granite and we have been assembled for almost two hours."