me any thanks," said Dick hastily, and in, rather a husky
voice. "I don't want the old thing, for I may have to fight against it
someday; but I didn't want to see Rodney and his crowd trample it under
their feet before they destroyed it. You're right, we shall always be
friends, no matter--dog-gone State Rights anyhow. That's me.
Good-night."

"Just one word more before you go," said Marcy. "Where did Rodney get
the secession flag he has been prancing around with ever since he came
from town?"

"It came through the post-office, but who sent it I don't know. You
ought to have heard the fellows whoop and yell when he took it out of
the package."

"Does he labor under the delusion that he is going to run it up on the
tower in the morning?" continued Marcy.

"You can't prove that by me," was Dick's response. "Good-night."

"Yes, I can prove it by you," thought Marcy, as his visitor went out,
closing the door behind him. "Your face and your actions said plainly
enough that that is what Rodney means to do; but I'll bet you he will be
astonished when to-morrow comes. He and his crowd must take us for a lot
of dunderheads."

Marcy waited until he thought Dick had had time to reach his own room,
and then he opened the door and went out into the hall. He was gone
about half an hour, and when he came back he was smiling all over, and
rubbing his hands together, as if he felt very well satisfied with what
he had done during his absence. Then he drew a chair to the table,
turned up the lamp, and devoted himself to another reading of the
letters and papers he had that day received from home. While he was thus
engaged some things were happening a few miles away that eventually came
very near raising a "sure-enough fight" at the academy, and opened the
eyes of the "citizens and voters of Barrington" to the fact that they
had not done a wise thing when they employed some of the most worthless
members of the community to keep watch of those who did not wear red,
white, and blue rosettes and hurrah for President Davis.

About the time the Missouri boy and his comrades made their successful
raid on the commandant's room, one of the paid spies of whom Mr. Riley
had spoken during his conversation with Dick Graham went to the
post-office in Barrington and was handed a letter addressed to himself.
An ordinary observer would have seen at a glance that the writing on the
envelope was disguised, but Bud Goble, who seldom saw writing of a