ould the cruel echo of one minute of inconsiderate folly on a
February day, keep sounding in his ears and hammering at his heart so
long as he should live?

It was mid-afternoon when Pen reached Lowbridge, and he went at once
to the Starbird mill on the outskirts of the town. He caught sight of
Robert Starbird in the mill-yard, and went over to him. The man did
not at first recognize him.

"I'm Penfield Butler," said the boy, "with whom you were talking last
week."

"Oh, yes. Now I know you. You look a little different, some way. I've
been watching out for you. How did you make out with your Grandpa
Walker?"

"Well, Grandpa Walker found it a little hard to take up the work I'd
been doing, but he was quite willing I should come, and helped me very
much."

"I see." An amused twinkle came into the man's eyes; just such a
twinkle as had come into the eyes of Henry Cobb that morning on the
way to Chestnut Hill.

"Well," he added, "I guess it's all right. Come over to the office.
We'll see what we can do for you."

They crossed the mill-yard and entered the office. An elderly,
benevolent looking man with white side-whiskers, wearing a Grand Army
button on the lapel of his coat, was seated at a table, writing. Three
or four clerks were busy at their desks, and a girl was working at a
type-writer in a remote corner of the room.

"Major Starbird," said the man who had brought Pen in, "this is the
boy whom I told you last week I had hired as a bobbin-boy. He's a
grandson of Enos Walker out at Cobb's Corners."

The man with white side-whiskers laid down his pen, removed his
glasses, and looked up scrutinizingly at Pen.

"Yes," he said, "I know Mr. Walker."

"He is also," added Robert Starbird, "a grandson of Colonel Richard
Butler at Chestnut Hill."

"Indeed! Colonel Butler is a warm friend of mine. I was not aware
that--is your name Penfield Butler?"

"Yes, sir," replied Pen. Something in the man's changed tone of voice
sent a sudden fear to his heart.

"Are you the boy who is said to have mistreated the American flag on
the school grounds at Chestnut Hill?"

"I--suppose I am. Yes, sir."

Pen's heart was now in his shoes. The man with white side-whiskers
raked him from head to foot with a look that boded no good. He turned
to his nephew.

"I've heard of that incident," he said. "I do not think we want this
young man in our employ."

Robert Starbird looked first at his uncle and then at Pen. It was
plain