“Young gentlemen, what is the meaning of this new outrage?” demanded the colonel angrily.

“A tussle over the flag, sir,” replied Dixon, standing very stiffly and raising his hand to his cap.  “The old one having mysteriously disappeared, it became necessary to hoist a new one, sir.”

Of course the commandant knew long before this time that the colors had been taken from his bureau, and he knew, also, that the theft had been committed under cover of that sham fight in the hall; but he did not say a word about it.  To be candid, he did not think it would be good policy to try to sift the matter to the bottom, for fear of implicating some profitable student whom he could not afford to expel.  Being proprietor of the school, he desired to keep it intact as long as he could.

“And during the tussle two of your number came very near being precipitated to the ground,” exclaimed the colonel.  “I shall put a stop to this insubordination if I have to order the whole school into the guard-house.”

“Very good, sir,” answered the boys.

“Go downstairs, all of you,” commanded the officer of the day.  “Sergeant Rodney and Private Marcy Gray, report to me at once.”

The students hastened down the ladder, wondering what was to be the result of this “new outrage.”  When they reached the hall one of them said, in tones loud enough to be heard by all his companions: 

“Graham is a traitor.  He stole the old flag, but he furnished a new one to be hoisted in its place.”

“There’s where you are wrong,” exclaimed Marcy promptly.  “Dick had nothing whatever to do with it, and when he saw this new flag, he was as much surprised as the rest of you were.  I have had it concealed in my room for more than six weeks.  I meant to be ready for you, you see.”

“Where did you get it? if that is a fair question.”

“It was made by a young lady who lives in Barrington, but of course you do not expect me to mention her name.  She is true to her colors, and that’s more than can be said in favor of you fellows who would have hauled it down if you had possessed the pluck.”

“That was well put in, Marcy,” said Rodney.  “There isn’t pluck enough among the whole lot of them to fit out a good-sized cat.  If the Yankees should come down here, they could drive an army of such fellows with nothing but cornstalks for weapons.”

The tone in which these words were uttered set Dick Graham going again, and he started all the rest that is, all except a few who were so angry they couldn’t laugh.  If that dread functionary, the officer of the day, heard the uproar, he must have thought that the culprits who had been commanded to report to him did not take their prospective punishment very much to heart.

Of course the boys who remained below were impatient to hear all about the things that had happened in and around the belfry, and to know what was going to be done with Rodney and his cousin.  But the last was a point upon which no one could enlighten them, not even the cousins themselves when they came from the presence of the officer of the day, who had given them a stern reprimand and a warning.  Being from Louisiana himself, and having offered his services to her in case they should be required, he bore down upon Marcy harder than he did upon Rodney, and even went so far as to try and convince the North Carolina boy that the word “traitor,” which had so often been applied to him by his schoolmates, was deserved and appropriate.  But Marcy could not look at it that way, and even in the presence of the man who could have shut him up in the guard-house, with nothing but bread to eat and water to drink, he did not “haul in his shingle one inch.”  He never had made any trouble in the school, and, what was more to the point, he did not intend to; but neither was he going to stand still and permit a lot of rebels to run over him.  The colonel had said, in so many words, that the flag was to be hoisted every morning until further orders; and in hoisting a new one in the place of the one that had disappeared, he had not broken any rule.  The officer knew that to be true, and as he could not punish one without punishing the other also, he was obliged to let them both go scot-free; but he detained Rodney a moment to whisper a word of caution to him.

“Don’t let this thing be repeated,” said he earnestly.  “I think just as you do, and if I could have my own way, your flag would now be waving on the tower; but it is my duty to obey orders, and it is your duty as well.  Don’t make another move until this State joins the Confederacy, and then there will be no one to oppose you.  The hoisting of another flag will break up the school, but that is to be expected.  You may go.”

“He said, in effect, that he would keep this thing hanging over our heads to see how we behave in future,” said Rodney to Billings and Cole, who were in the hall waiting for him.  “He is on our side, but not being the head of the school, he can’t back us up as he would like to.  But then this will keep,” he added, once more shaking out his flag, which he had all the while carried under his arm.  “I was afraid the teachers would take it away from me, but as they didn’t, we’ll hold ourselves in readiness to run it up when the other is ordered down.”

But the incidents of the morning, exciting as they were, did not long monopolize the attention of the students, or remain the principal subjects of discussion.  They were forgotten the minute the mail was distributed, for of course their papers contained news from all parts, and the boys made it their business to keep posted.  There was one thing the papers had already begun to do that excited derisive laughter among all the sensible boys in school.  They called dispatches from the North “Foreign Intelligence.”  But there were some, like Rodney Gray, who could not see that that was anything to laugh at, and following the lead of their favorite journals in politics, they soon learned to follow their vocabulary also, and always spoke of the North as “the United States,” and of the South as “the Confederate States.”

When the adjutant’s call was sounded Marcy Gray fell in with the other members of his company who had been warned for duty, and marched to the parade-ground to go through the ceremony of guard-mounting.  Immediately after that he went on post in a remote part of the grounds, a favorite place with the sentries on hot summer days, for the woods on the other side came close up to the fence, and the trees threw a grateful shade over the beat.  The only order the boy he relieved had to pass, was a simple as well as a useless one.  It was to “keep his eye peeled for that fence and not permit anybody to climb over it”; but Marcy listened as though he meant to obey it.  Then the relief passed on, and he was left alone with his thoughts, which, considering the incidents connected with that skirmish on the tower, were not the most agreeable company.

He had been there perhaps a couple of hours, out of sight of everybody, when he was brought to a stand-still by a rustling among the bushes on the other side of the fence, and presently discovered old Toby looking at him over a fallen log.  A smile of genuine joy and relief overspread the black man’s features when he saw who the vigilant sentry was, and he immediately got upon his feet and came to the fence.

“The top of the morning to you, parson,” said Marcy pleasantly.  “You act as though you might be looking for some one.”

“Sarvent, sah,” replied Toby.  “I is for a fac’ lookin’ for you, an’ nobody else.  I was up to de gate, an’ Marse Dick Graham done tol’ me you down heah.  You-uns gwine get in de biggest sort of trouble, you an’ Marse Dick, an’ I come heah to tol’ you.”

“I assure you we are grateful to you for it,” answered the boy, with a smile.  “But how are we going to get into trouble?  Talk fast, for I have no business to hold any communication whatever with you.”

“Dat white trash, Bud Gobble; he’s de man,” began Toby.  “You an’ Marse Dick done sont him into de woods to look for de way to dat underground railroad-”

Marcy leaned upon his musket, threw back his head, and laughed heartily but silently, for he did not want to bring the corporal of the guard down to his post until he had heard what the old negro had to tell him.

“Dat’s jes’ what you-uns done, Marse Marcy,” continued Toby.  “An’ now dat man gwine tote you bofe out in de woods an’ lick you like he was de oberseer an’ you two de niggahs.”

When Marcy heard this he did not know whether to laugh again or get angry over it.  As time was precious he did neither, but began questioning Toby, who told a story that made the boy open his eyes.  When it was concluded the fact was plain to Marcy that somebody had been trying to get him and Dick Graham into trouble; but who could it be?  He knew that he had been airing his Union sentiments rather freely, but he wasn’t aware that he had made any enemies by it.  He wished the hour for his relief would hasten its coming, so that he might compare notes with Dick.

“You think it was the letter Bud received that put all these things into his head, do you?” said he, after a moment’s reflection.

“You haven’t any idea who wrote the letter or what else there was in it?”

“No sah, I aint.  I wish’t I had, so’t I could tell you.”

“Bud Goble mentioned Dick’s name and mine while he was threatening us, did he?” continued Marcy.

“He did for a fac’.  I didn’t hear him, kase I wasn’t dar; but Elder Bowen’s niggah Sam was in de store when he ‘buse de storekeeper, an’ he was at de house when he come dar an’ ’buse de elder for a babolitionist.  You-uns want look out, Marse Marcy.  Dat man mean mischief, suah’s you born.”

“Don’t be uneasy,” replied Marcy.  “If Mr. Goble thinks he is going to catch us napping, he will find himself mistaken.  I should like to see him and his friends come to this school and try to carry out their threats.  There are plenty of Union boys among the students, parson.”

“I’se suspicioned dat all along, sah, an’ I’se mighty proud to hear you say so; I is for a fac’.  Dere’s a few of ’em in de settle_ment_, but I’se mighty jubus what will happen to ’em when Marse Gobble gets on de war-paf, like he say he gwine do.  He say he gwine lick de las’ one.”

“Then it is high time he was put under lock and key,” said Marcy indignantly.  “I hope if he goes to Mr. Bowen’s house the elder will turn loose on him with that double-barreled shotgun of his.”

“He say dat’s what he allow to do; but I dunno,” replied the old negro, shaking his head and looking at the ground as if he felt that troublous times were coming upon the earth.  “It’s gwine be mighty hot about yer, an’ I dunno what we niggahs gwine do.  I wish dem babolitionists up Norf shet dere moufs an’ luf we-uns be.  Dey gwine get us in a peck of trouble.”

“And such fellows as Bud Goble seem perfectly willing to help it on,” said Marcy, whose indignation increased, the longer he dwelt upon the details of the story Toby had told him.  “For two cents I would muster a squad and go down to his shanty and turn him out of doors.  We’ll do something of the kind if the authorities do not put a curb on him.”

“But dey hire him to do all dis meanness, Marse Marcy,” exclaimed the negro.  “He ’longs to dat committee.”

“Don’t you believe any such stuff.  It is likely that he is in the pay of that committee, and more shame to them, but he doesn’t belong to it.  Now you run away, parson, because-”

“Hol’ on, please, sah,” interrupted the old man.  “I want ax your device.  I got a little money-not much, but jes’ a little” (here he pulled from one of his capacious pockets a stocking filled half-way up the leg with something that must have been heavy, judging by the care he took in handling it),-“an’ I’m that skeared of havin’ it in de house dat I can’t sleep.  Marse Gobble ‘lows to steal bacon an’ taters of me now as often as he gets hungry, an’ de fust ting I know he ax me for dis money; den what I gwine do?  Take keer on it for me, please, sah.”

“Why, parson, you’re rich,” said Marcy, reaching through the fence and “hefting” the stocking in his hand.  “Is this all silver?  Where did you get so much?”

“I earn it ebery cent, an’ sabe it, too,” answered Toby, with some pride in his tones.  “It’s all mine, but I ’fraid I aint gwine be ’lowed to keep it, now dat de wah comin’.”

“I think myself that it will bring you trouble sooner or later.  You ought never to have told anybody that you had it.”

“Who?  Me, sah?  I never tol’ de fust livin’ soul in dis world.  It got round de quarter some way, I dunno how, an’ some of dem fool niggahs had to go an’ blab it.  Will you take keer on it for olé Toby, sah?”

“If I were going to stay in this part of the country I would do it in a minute,” answered Marcy.  “But I am liable to leave here at an hour’s notice, and what should I do with it if I did not have time to take it to your cabin?  Give it to your master, and ask him to take care of it for you.”

“Oh, laws!  Marse Riley secession de bigges’ kind,” exclaimed Toby, with a gesture which seemed that such a proposition was not to be entertained for a moment.

“No matter for that,” replied Marcy.  “He’s honest, and what more do you want?  He is a kind master, the best friend you have in the world, and you don’t want to keep anything from him.  Come to think of it, I wouldn’t take the money, even if I were going to stay here.  Go to Mr. Riley with it.”

“You won’t take keer on it for de olé niggah?” said Toby, who was very much disappointed.  “Den I reckon I’d best bury it somewhars in de ground.”

“You will surely lose it if you do that,” protested Marcy.  “Does Bud Goble know you’ve got it?  Well, if he gets after you, he’ll thrash you till you will be glad to tell where you have concealed it; but if you can tell him that it is in Mr. Riley’s hands, he’ll not bother you or the money, either.  Now run along, parson.  I see a uniform over there among the trees, and I shouldn’t be surprised if the corporal was inside of it.”

The old negro hastened into the woods, hiding the stocking somewhere about his patched clothes as he went, and Marcy brought his piece to “support arms,” and paced his beat while waiting for the corporal to come up.  It wasn’t the corporal, after all, but a private like himself, who had come out to study his lesson and roll about on the grass.  He did not speak to the sentry, but he was so close to him that Marcy could not have held any more private conversation with old Toby.

“It is nothing more than I expected,” thought Marcy, recalling some of the incidents the negro had described to him.  “Union men all over the South have been the victims of hotheaded secessionists, like those who compose that Committee of Safety, and now we’re going to have the same sort of work right here in our midst.  I don’t believe that Bud Goble has organized a company for the purpose of running Northern sympathizers out of the State; he said that just to frighten Toby and a few others.  But if he has, I hope he will bring them up here some night and try to take Dick Graham and me out of the building.  I am glad those men had the courage to defy him to his face, and wish I could have seen Bud about the time the elder was walking him out of the yard.”

It would seem from this that old Toby had told Marcy some things we do not know, and that Bud Goble’s plans were not working as smoothly as he could have wished.  Let us return to Bud and see where he was and what he had been doing since he took leave of his wife in the morning.

He left home with a light heart and a pocketful of bullets, and took a short cut through the woods toward Barrington.  A few of the bullets were to be expended upon such unwary small game as might chance to come in his way, and with the rest, if circumstances seemed to require it, intended to make a show of being ready for business.  He struck a straight course for the little grocery and dry-goods store, at which he had for years been an occasional customer, and thought himself fortunate to find the proprietor in.  He was busy dusting the counter, but he was not alone.  There were three or four others present, and when we tell you that they were Bud Goble’s intimate friends, you will know just what sort of men they were.

“Mornin’,” said Bud cheerfully.  “Famblies all well?  Mine’s only jest tol’able, thank ye.  What’s the news?”

“There aint none,” was the reply from one, to which the others all assented.  “Are there any with you?”

“Well,” said Bud slowly, at the same time edging around so that he could keep an eye on the storekeeper and note the effect his words produced upon him.  “I don’t rightly know what you-uns call news.  I reckon you-uns heared that I was workin’ for that Committee of Safety, didn’t you?”

They had heard something of it in a roundabout way.  Was there any money in the job, and what was he expected to do?

“There’s a little money into it,” answered Bud.  “Jest about enough to pay me for my time an’ trouble, but no more.  I’ve gin some of them loud-talkin’ folks, who think a nigger is as good as a white man, notice that they had best cl’ar outen the ’Federacy before they are drove out, an’ go up to the United States among them that believe as they do.”

“An’ it sarves ’em jest right,” observed one of Bud’s friends, helping himself to a handful of crackers.  “I’d like to see the last one of ’em chucked out bag an’ baggage.  But s’pose they wont go?”

“I’m hopin’ they wont, for that’s where the fun’ll come in.  That’ll give we-uns-”

Just at this moment Bud was interrupted by the entrance of “Elder Bowen’s nigger Sam,” who removed his hat respectfully and kept on to the counter where the storekeeper was at work.  Bud and his friends listened and heard him say: 

“I aint got no change dis mawnin’, Mr. Bailey, but-”

“That’s all right, Sam,” Mr. Bailey hastened to reply.  “You are an honest workingman, and your credit is good.  What did you say you wanted?  A dress and a pair of shoes for your old woman?  Well, how will these suit you?”

“Dog-gone the nigger, why didn’t he keep away a little longer?” whispered Bud.  “Them’s the very things I wanted, an’ mebbe olé man Bailey won’t want to trust two fellers at once.”

“Then lick him,” suggested one of his friends.  “He’s nobody but a babolitionist, anyway.”

“That’s what I allow to do,” answered Bud.

When the negro had received the goods he asked for, he leaned against the counter as if he were in no particular hurry to go away.  This suited Bud, who drawled, in lazy tones: 

“Yes; I’ve warned some of them nigger-lovers that they aint wanted here no longer’n it’ll take ’em to get out, but I am hopin’ they won’t leave, kase that’s where the fun’ll come in.  I’m gettin’ up a company of minute-men to sorter patrol the kentry hereabouts, an’ them that don’t do to please us we are goin’ to lick, niggers an’ whites.  We jest aint goin’ to have no more talkin’ agin the ‘Federacy, an’ them that’s for the North kin go up there.  That’s what the committee says.  Will you-uns jine?”

Of course they would, to a man, and they would like nothing better.  They were ready at any time to prove their devotion to the Confederacy by thrashing or hanging everybody, white and black, who did not believe that secession and disunion were the best things that could happen for the South.  Then Bud, seeing that he had plenty of backing, waxed eloquent and made a short but stirring speech.  He dwelt upon the wrongs and insults that had been heaped upon the Southern States ever since they had shown themselves foolish enough to join the Union; denied that a black man was as good as a white gentleman; loudly proclaimed that all Northerners, as well as those who thought as they did, were cowards; denounced as traitors all Southern men who did not shout for President Davis, and said they ought and must be whipped out of the country; and through it all he kept watch of the two at the counter to see what impression his patriotic words made upon them.

Mr. Bailey was a little man who carried the weight of sixty-five years upon his shoulders, and Bud talked for his especial benefit, hoping to frighten him into compliance with the demands he was about to make upon him.  Mr. Bailey was opposed to secession, and never hesitated to say so when politics came up for discussion, as they often did among his customers; but Bud was sure the old fellow was frightened now.  He did not say a word in reply, but used his brush with more energy, and now and then rapped the counter with the back of it; and these, Bud thought, were unmistakable signs of timidity or, at least, nervousness.

As for darkey Sam, there was no doubting the impression Bud’s eloquence made upon him.  He was greatly terrified, for he remembered that his master had once denounced secession from the pulpit, and told the members of his congregation just what they might make up their minds to endure if it were consummated.  Possibly Bud Goble recalled the circumstance, for he looked very hard at Sam while he was talking.  As soon as the speech was brought to a close Sam sidled along toward the door, looking into the show-cases as he went, and presently found himself safe on the porch.  Then he clapped his hat on his head and started for home post-haste.

“I reckon he’s gwine tell the parson what you said,” exclaimed one of Bud’s friends.  “Well, I do think Elder Bowen is one of the dangerousest men in the whole kentry, an’ that he’d oughter be snatched outen that church of his’n before he has time to preach up any more of them pizen docterings.  Warned him yet?”

“No; but I allow to do it soon’s I get through with my business yer,” replied Bud, throwing his rifle into the hollow of his arm, and sauntering up to the counter where Mr. Bailey stood.  He affected a careless, confident swagger, which was by no means indicative of his feelings.  Now that he could look closely at him he found that the storekeeper wasn’t frightened enough, and that his speech had not accomplished half as much as he meant to have it.  “You don’t seem to be right peart this mornin’,” he continued.  “What’s the matter of ye?”

“Nothing whatever,” answered Mr. Bailey.  “I’m as gay as a lark.  Something wanted?”

“I reckon,” replied Bud.  “I want the same things you gin that there nigger a minute ago-a dress an’ a pair of shoes for my olé woman.”

“Got any money to pay for ’em?”

“Not jest this minute, but I shall have plenty this evening, an’ then mebbe I’ll-”

“Can’t help it,” said Mr. Bailey, shaking his head.

“Wont you trust me?”

“No, I won’t.  I told you so the other day, and when I say a thing of that sort I mean it.”

“Do you give credit to a nigger before my face an’ eyes, an’ then refuse it to a white gentleman?” shouted Bud.  “What do you do that-a-way for?”

“I run my business to suit myself,” answered Mr. Bailey, without the least show of irritation.  “If you don’t like it, go somewhere else with your trade.  I don’t want it, any way.”

“You think a nigger better’n a white man, do ye?” yelled Bud, growing red in the face.  “What do you say to that, boys?  Look a here,” he added.  “Mebbe you don’t know who I am.  I’ve got the power an’ the will, too, to turn you houseless an’ homeless into the street before you see the sun rise agin.”

“I’ll make moonlight shine through you while you are doing it,” said the old man boldly.

“You will?” Bud brought his fist down upon the counter with tremendous force, and then he dived down into his pocket and brought out a handful of bullets, which he placed before the storekeeper.  “Do you see them?  I want to warn ye that they was molded a-purpose to be shot into traitors like yerself; an’ I brung ’em along to show ye-”

“Take ’em off the counter.  I’ve just dusted it,” interrupted Mr. Bailey; and with the words he hit the bullets a blow with his brush that sent them in every direction.

Bud Goble was astounded, and so were his friends, who had never dreamed that there was so much spirit in that little, dried-up man.  The former looked at him a moment, and then he looked at the bullets that were rolling about on the floor.

“Come around yer an’ pick ’em up, the very last one of ’em, an’ say yer sorry ye done it, an’ that you’ll never do the like agin, or I’ll take ye up by the heels an’ mop the floor with ye,” said Bud, in savage tones.  “Come a-lumberin’.”

“Pick ’em up yourself, and next time keep ’em off my counter,” was Mr. Bailey’s answer.  “What did you put them there for, any way?”

A glance at his friends showed Bud that they expected him to do something, and he dared not hesitate.  He handed the nearest man his rifle to hold for him, peeled off his coat, gave a yell that was heard a block away, and was about to jump up and knock his heels together, when he happened to look toward Mr. Bailey, and stopped as if he had been frozen in his tracks.  The old man was waiting for him.  He leaned against a shelf behind the counter, but he held a cocked revolver in his hand.