e gun rolled far away as the Cross of St. George descended
from flagstaff and topmast to be furled for the night.

"It is the sunset gun; the signal for taking down the flags," said
Berinthia.

"I often watch from my chamber window for the flashing of the cannon,"
Miss Newville remarked.

"It is a beautiful sight; but would be more exhilarating if the flag
was what it ought to be," said Robert.

The twilight had not faded from the sky when Robert accompanied Miss
Newville to her home. Officers of the king's regiments lifted their
hats to her upon the way; their attentions were recognized with
dignified grace. Robert saw scowls on their faces as they glared at
him, as if to challenge his right to be her escort.

"The night is hot and the air sultry, and if you please, Mr. Walden,
we will sit in the garden rather than in the house," she said.

They strolled beneath the trees bending with the weight of ripening
fruit, and seated themselves in a rustic arbor. The early grapes were
purpling above them.

"I do not know, Mr. Walden, that I quite comprehended your meaning
when you said the flag would be more beautiful if it were what it
ought to be. I think it very beautiful as it is."

"I did not have reference, Miss Newville, to the texture or quality of
the cloth, or the arrangement of colors, neither to the devices,--the
crosses of St. George and St. Andrew,--but thought of it as a symbol
of power. My father fought under it, and it has waved in triumph on
many battlefields; but just now it is being used to deprive us of our
rights."

"Have you ever read the legend of St. George?" she asked.

"I have not, and I hardly know what the Cross of St. George stands
for."

"It is a beautiful story. I read it not long ago in a book which I
found in Mr. Knox's store. Would you like to hear it?"

"Please tell me about it."

"The story runs that ever so many years ago there was a terrible
dragon--a monster, part snake, part crocodile, with sharp teeth, a
forked tongue, claws, and wings. It could crawl upon the land or swim
in the water. Every day it came from its lair and ate the sheep in the
pastures around the old city of Berytus. When the sheep were gone it
ate little children. The king of the city could think of nothing
better than to issue an edict requiring the selection of two children
under fifteen years old by lot, to be given to the dragon. One day the
lot fell upon the king's daughter, the Princess Cleodolind