Down the quiet street came the roll of drums, and David rushed to the gate, wishing with all his heart that he might follow the soldiers. But he knew that his grandmother expected him to take her to the synagogue, and he did not dare to leave the garden; instead he stood kicking holes in the path with his shining Sabbath boots which at that moment he hated with all his might, just as he hated the ruffles of fine linen that his grandmother had painfully stitched for him with her loving, rheumatic old fingers, and his Sabbath suit in which he was never allowed to romp or play. And at that moment, with the British actually knocking at New York's front door, one could hardly blame a small boy for growing impatient at the restrictions of a doting old grandmother, no matter how much she might indulge the orphan grandson whom his dying father had left in her charge the year before. If he were only a man, thought David, longingly; only old enough to be with General Washington's troops across the river. But a ten-year-old boy, who couldn't even play the drum like Frank Morris, the apprentice lad who had run away to join the army, couldn't serve his country any better than a feeble old lady like Grandma or a minister like the rabbi next door. The roll of drums had startled the rabbi as well as his young neighbor and he now appeared in his garden, walking with swift, nervous steps to the gate. At first, he did not seem to see David; only stared down the road with wide, eager eyes, his hands gripping the rails of the gate until his knuckles showed hard and white; then, as the drums grew fainter, his shoulders relaxed a little, he sighed deeply, and, turning toward David, nodded kindly, even smiling, as though he had no deeper thought in his mind than giving his young friend a Sabbath greeting. "Good _Shabbas_," said the rabbi. "I see you're all ready for service, my lad." "Yes, sir. I'm just waiting for Grandmother." From far off came the last sound of the drums. "Did you hear the drums, sir? I wonder whether more of our troops are coming to the city." The minister's face darkened. "Rather the American troops are leaving it, I fear," he answered gravely. "Mr. Levy who came by early this morning told me that four British ships have already passed up North River, and that there are about the same number anchored in Turtle Bay. They may make a landing at any time--and if they do----" he smiled somewhat grimly, "well, I fear, my lad, that we will be living in a British province." But David had heard too much from his cousins in Philadelphia of the glorious doings of a few months before, the Declaration of Independence signed in July, the ringing of the great Liberty Bell. And he answered as sturdily as any other boy of 1776 might have done: "No, sir. The British may take the city, but no true-born American will submit to their rule."