A roar of applause broke from the crowd. "Down with King George!" they cried as a dozen eager hands pulled the rope from the frightened Tory's neck and flung it about the statue. The Tory, only too glad to make his escape, crept away unnoticed in the crowd, already intent upon pulling the leaden effigy to the ground. They tugged as one man, that howling, maddened mob until with a great crash the deposed statue of the hated British king lay upon the ground. Then: "Bullets" was the cry, "bullets for our soldiers," as, laughing and shouting, the citizens of New York dragged the statue away to be melted into bullets for colonial rifles. Isaac Franks looked longingly after them. But he knew that it would soon be time for "taps" and he dared not be late. With a little sigh, he turned his face toward the camp, where, under General Washington, he hoped to learn to become a good soldier of the Republic. THE LAST SERVICE _The Story of a Rabbi Who Lived in New York When it Was Captured by the British in 1776._ A Sabbath hush brooded over the garden of the Rev. Mr. Gershom Mendes Seixas, minister of New York's one synagogue, _Shearith Israel_. The tall pink and white hollyhocks that bordered the prim paths nodded languidly in the warm September breeze. From the trees came the twitter of sparrows, now low and conversational, now high and shrill, "just like people in the synagogue," thought little David Phillips, as he strolled in his grandmother's garden on the other side of the hedge. And if David had pulled aside the white curtains of the Rabbi's study windows, he would have seen that the same Sabbath peace filled the low-ceilinged room, the walls covered with books, most of them rather forbidding in their musty, leather bindings. A peaceful, restful room on the Jewish rest day; but, boy as he was, David would have seen at a glance that Rabbi Seixas was not at peace with himself. A keen-eyed, quick-moving young man of about thirty, he paced restlessly up and down between the bookshelves, his hands clasped behind his back, his brows knit in thought. Several times he glanced at the tall clock his father had brought from Lisbon; it would soon be time for him to go to the synagogue; but what message had he to give his people?