his in his stride,
but now he felt he must keep moving constantly to keep from becoming
violently sick.

Overhead, a pall of smoke surged again, blotting out, partly, the
comet's light. More houses had been fired by the invaders. The sound of
crackling flames mingled with the thunder of hoofs and the roll of rifle
fire.

Surely it wouldn't be possible, Ken thought, for such a charge to
succeed unless it were backed by strong infantry. He moved into one of
the houses and directed the placement of the severely wounded man
brought up now by the bearers. As they left, he looked down at the
stained and bloody face. A nurse was already at work cutting away the
matted clothing from the wound.

Ken exclaimed loudly before he realized what he was saying. "Mr. Harris!
Mr. Harris--you shouldn't have been out there!"

The man opened his eyes slowly against the terrible pain. He smiled in
recognition. It was Mr. Harris, the principal of Mayfield High School;
the one Ken had attended. He was an old man--at least fifty--much too
old to have been at the barricade with a rifle.

"You shouldn't have been out there," Ken repeated. Mr. Harris seemed to
have difficulty in seeing him.

"Ken," he said slowly. "It's Ken Maddox, isn't it? Everybody has to do
something. It seemed like this was the best thing I could do. No school
to teach. No school for a long time."

His voice wavered as he began to ramble. "I guess that makes all the
students happy. No school all winter long. I always dreamed of Mayfield
being a school where they would be glad to come, whose opening in the
fall would be welcomed and closing in the spring would be regretted. I
never got that far, I guess.

"I didn't do a really bad job, did I, Ken? Mayfield is a pretty good
school, isn't it?"

"Mayfield is a swell school, Mr. Harris," said Ken. "It'll be the best
day ever when Mayfield opens up again."

"Yes ... when school opens again," Mr. Harris said, and then he was
still.

The nurse felt his pulse and regretfully drew the sheet up to cover his
face. "I'm sorry," she said to Ken.

Blindly, he turned and went out to the porch. Mr. Harris, he thought,
the little bald-headed man they'd laughed at so often with schoolboy
cruelty. He had wanted to make Mayfield a good school, so students would
be glad to attend.

He'd done that--almost. Mayfield _was_ a good school.

Ken looked at the rolling clouds of black smoke in the sky. The gunfire
seemed less steady no