es, I,
myself, will occupy a portion of the time thus made vacant, in still
further expounding to you--"

But at this moment, notwithstanding his effort to avoid it, he again
caught his daughter's warning look, and saw her forefinger held
threateningly in the air.

"I am reminded, however," he continued, "by one in the audience whose
judgment I am bound to respect, that it is not appropriate for me to
make both the speech of presentation and the address on behalf of the
recipient. I will, therefore, conclude by thanking you for your
attendance and your attention, and by again adjuring you to honor,
protect and preserve this beautiful emblem of our national liberties."

He had scarcely taken his seat amid the applause that his words always
evoked, before Miss Grey was on her feet announcing the closing number
of the program, the song "America," by the entire audience.

Whether it was due to the excitement of the occasion, or, as the
colonel afterward modestly suggested, to the spirit of patriotism
aroused by his remarks, it is a fact that no one present had ever
before heard the old song sung with more vim and feeling.

The audience was dismissed.

Colonel Butler's friends came forward to congratulate and thank him.
The Hilltops, chuckling gleefully, with Elmer Cuddeback in their
center, marched off up-town. The Riverbeds, downcast and revengeful,
made their way down the hill. But Aleck Sands was not with them. He
had already left the school-building and had gone home. He was angry
and bitterly resentful. He felt that he could have faced any one, at
any time, in open warfare, but to be humiliated and ridiculed in
public, that was more than even his phlegmatic nature could stand. He
could not forget it. He could not forgive those who had caused it.
Days, weeks, years were not sufficient to blot entirely from his heart
the feeling of revenge that entered it that winter afternoon.

It was late on the same day that Colonel Butler stood with his back to
the blazing wood-fire in the library, waiting for his supper to be
served, and looking out into the hall on the folds of the handsome,
silk, American flag draped against the wall. There had always been a
flag in the hall. Colonel Butler's father had placed one there when he
built the house and went to live in it. And when, later on, the
colonel fell heir to the property, and rebuilt and modernized the
home, he replaced the old flag of bunting with the present one of
s