th
of July, or a political rally. Today it was as if he saw it for
the first time; no bands, no noise, no orators; a spot of
restless colour against the sodden March sky.

He turned out of his way in order to pass the High School, drew
up his team, and waited a few minutes until the noon bell rang.
The older boys and girls came out first, with a flurry of
raincoats and umbrellas. Presently he saw Gladys Farmer, in a
yellow "slicker" and an oilskin hat, and waved to her. She came
up to the wagon.

"I like your decoration," he said, glancing toward the cupola.

"It's a silk one the Senior boys bought with their athletic
money. I advised them not to run it up in this rain, but the
class president told me they bought that flag for storms."

"Get in, and I'll take you home."

She took his extended hand, put her foot on the hub of the wheel,
and climbed to the seat beside him. He clucked to his team.

"So your High School boys are feeling war-like these days?"

"Very. What do you think?"

"I think they'll have a chance to express their feelings."

"Do you, Claude? It seems awfully unreal."

"Nothing else seems very real, either. I'm going to haul out a
load of lumber, but I never expect to drive a nail in it. These
things don't matter now. There is only one thing we ought to do,
and only one thing that matters; we all know it."

"You feel it's coming nearer every day?"

"Every day."

Gladys made no reply. She only looked at him gravely with her
calm, generous brown eyes. They stopped before the low house
where the windows were full of flowers. She took his hand and
swung herself to the ground, holding it for a moment while she
said good-bye. Claude drove back to the lumber yard. In a place
like Frankfort, a boy whose wife was in China could hardly go to
see Gladys without causing gossip.

VIII

During the bleak month of March Mr. Wheeler went to town in his
buckboard almost every day. For the first time in his life he had
a secret anxiety. The one member of his family who had never
given him the slightest trouble, his son Bayliss, was just now
under a cloud.

Bayliss was a Pacifist, and kept telling people that if only the
United States would stay out of this war, and gather up what
Europe was wasting, she would soon be in actual possession of the
capital of the world. There was a kind of logic in Bayliss'
utterances that shook Nat Wheeler's imperturbable assumption that
one point of view was as go