It was on an afternoon late in January that the flag was finally presented to the school. It was a day marked with fierce winds and flurries of snow, like a day in March.

But the inclement weather did not prevent people from coming to the presentation exercises. The school room was full; even the aisles were filled, and more than one late-comer was turned away because there was no more room.

Notwithstanding the fact that the Riverbeds were to have the lion’s share of the honors of the occasion, and the further fact that resentment in the ranks of the Hilltops ran strong and deep, and doubly so since the outwitting of their leader, no attempt was made to block the program, or to interfere, in any way, with the success of the occasion.

There were, indeed, some secret whisperings in a little group of which Elmer Cuddeback was the center; but, if any mischief was brewing, Pen did not know of it.

Moreover, was it not Pen’s grandfather who had given the flag, and who was to be the chief guest of the school, and was it not up to the Hilltops to see that he was treated with becoming courtesy? At any rate that was the “consensus of opinion” among them. Colonel Butler had prepared his presentation speech with great care. Twice he had read it aloud in his library to his grandson and to his daughter Millicent.

His grandson had only favorable comment to make, but his daughter Millicent criticised it sharply. She said that it was twice too long, that it had too much “spread eagle” in it, and that it would be away over the heads of his audience anyway. So the colonel modified it somewhat; but, unfortunately, he neither made it simpler nor appreciably shorter.

Aleck, too, under the supervision of his teacher, had prepared a fitting and patriotic response which he had committed to memory and had rehearsed many times. Pupils taking part in the rest of the program had been carefully and patiently drilled, and every one looked forward to an occasion which would be marked as a red-letter day in the history of the Chestnut Hill school.

The exercises opened with the singing of “The Star Spangled Banner,” by the school. There was a brief prayer by the pastor of one of the village churches. Next came a recitation, “Barbara Frietchie,” by a small girl. Then another girl read a brief history of the American flag. She was followed by James Garfield Morrissey, the crack elocutionist of the school, who recited, in fine form, a well-known patriotic poem, written to commemorate the heroism of American sailors who cheered the flag as they went down with the sinking flag-ship Trenton in a hurricane which swept the Samoan coast in 1889.

The banner of the sea

By wind and wave the sailor brave has fared
To shores of every sea;
But, never yet have seamen met or dared
Grim death for victory,
In braver mood than they who died
On drifting decks in Apia’s tide
While cheering every sailor’s pride,
The Banner of the Free.

Columbia’s men were they who then went down,
Not knights nor kings of old;
But brighter far their laurels are than crown
Or coronet of gold.
Our sailor true, of any crew,
Would give the last long breath he drew
To cheer the old Red, White and Blue,
The Banner of the Bold.

With hearts of oak, through storm and smoke and flame,
Columbia’s seamen long
Have bravely fought and nobly wrought that shame
Might never dull their song.
They sing the Country of the Free,
The glory of the rolling sea,
The starry flag of liberty,
The Banner of the Strong.

We ask but this, and not amiss the claim;
A fleet to ride the wave,
A navy great to crown the state with fame,
Though foes or tempests rave.
Then, as our fathers did of yore,
We’ll sail our ships to every shore,
On every ocean wind will soar
The Banner of the Brave.

Oh! this we claim that never shame may ride
On any wave with thee,
Thou ship of state whose timbers great abide
The home of liberty.
For, so, our gallant Yankee tars,
Of daring deeds and honored scars,
Will make the Banner of the Stars
The Banner of the Sea.

The school having been roused to a proper pitch of enthusiasm by the reading of these verses, Colonel Butler rose in an atmosphere already surcharged with patriotism to make his presentation speech. Hearty applause greeted the colonel, for, notwithstanding his well-known idiosyncrasies, he was extremely popular in Chestnut Hill. He had been a brave soldier, an exemplary neighbor, a prominent and public-spirited citizen. Why should he not receive a generous welcome? He graciously bowed his acknowledgment, and when the hand-clapping ceased he began:

“Honored teachers, diligent pupils, faithful directors, patriotic citizens, and friends. This is a most momentous occasion. We are met to-day to do honor to the flag of our country, a flag for which and I say it with pardonable pride I, myself, have fought on many a bloody and well-known field.”

There was a round of applause.

The colonel’s face flushed with pleasure, his voice rose and expanded, and in many a well-rounded phrase and burst of eloquence he appealed to the latent patriotism of his hearers.

At the end of fifteen minutes he glanced at his watch which was lying on a table at his side, and then looked at his daughter Millicent who was occupying a chair in the front row as she had said she would. She frowned at him forbiddingly. But he was as yet scarcely half through his speech. He picked up his manuscript from the table and glanced at it, and then looked appealingly at her. She was obdurate. She held a warning forefinger in the air.

“I am reminded,” he said, “by one in the audience whose judgment I am bound to respect, that the time allotted to me in this program has nearly elapsed.”

“Fully elapsed,” whispered his daughter with pursed lips, in such manner that, looking at her, he could not fail to catch the words.

“Therefore,” continued the colonel, with a sigh, “I must hasten to my conclusion. I wish to acknowledge my deep indebtedness to your faithful teacher, Miss Grey, by reason of whose patriotic initiative the opportunity was presented to me to make this gift. I wish also to commend the vigilance and effort of the young gentleman who brought the matter to my immediate and personal attention, and who, I am informed, will fittingly and eloquently respond to this brief and somewhat unsatisfactory address, Master Alexander Sands.”

Back somewhere in the audience, at the sound of the name, there was an audible sniff which was immediately drowned by loud hand-clapping on the part of the Riverbeds. But Colonel Butler was not yet quite through. Avoiding any ominous look which might have been aimed at him by his daughter, he hurried on:

“And now, in conclusion, as I turn this flag over into your custody, let me charge you to guard it with exceeding care. It should be treated with reverence because it symbolizes our common country. Whoever regards it with indifference has no patriotic blood in his veins. Whoever lays wanton hands on it is a traitor to it. And whoever insults or defames it in any way, deserves, and will receive, the open scorn and lasting contempt of all his countrymen. Ladies and gentlemen, I have done.”

The colonel resumed his seat amid a roar of applause, and when it had subsided Miss Grey arose to introduce the respondent.

“This beautiful flag,” she said, “will now be accepted, on behalf of the school, in an address by one of our pupils: Master Alexander Sands.”

Aleck arose and made his way to the platform. The Riverbeds applauded him vigorously, and the guests mildly, as he went. He started out bravely enough on his speech.

“Colonel Butler, teachers and guests: It gives me pleasure, on behalf of the Chestnut Hill public school, to accept this beautiful flag

He made a sweeping gesture toward the right-hand corner of the platform, as he had done at rehearsals, only to discover that the flag had, at the last moment, been shifted to the left-hand corner, and he had, perforce, to turn and repeat his gesture in that direction. There was nothing particularly disconcerting about this, but it broke the continuity of his effort, it interfered with his memory, he halted, colored, and cudgeled his brains to find what came next. Back, in the rear of the room, where the Hilltops were gathered, there was an audible snicker; but Aleck was too busy to hear it, and Miss Grey, prepared for just such an emergency as this, glanced at a manuscript she had in her hand, and prompted him:

“So graciously given to us

Aleck caught the words and went on:

“ so graciously given to us by our honored townsman and patriotic citizen, Colonel Richard Butler.”

Another pause. Again Miss Grey came to the rescue.

“No words of mine ” she said.

“No words of mine,” repeated Aleck.

“Sure, they’re no words of yours,” said some one in a stage-whisper, far down in the audience.

Suspicion pointed to Elmer Cuddeback, but he stood there against the wall, with such an innocent, sober look on his round face, that people thought they must be mistaken. The words had not failed to reach to the platform, however, and Miss Grey, more troubled than before, again had recourse to her manuscript for the benefit of Aleck, who was floundering more deeply than ever in the bogs of memory.

“ can properly express

“ can properly express

Another pause. Again the voice back by the wall:

“Express broke down; take local.”

The situation was growing desperate. Miss Grey was almost at her wit’s end. Then a bright idea struck her. She thrust the manuscript into Aleck’s hand.

“Oh, Aleck,” she exclaimed, “take it and read it!”

He grasped it like the proverbial drowning man, turned it upside down and right side up, but failed to find the place where he had left off.

Again the insistent, high-pitched whisper from the rear, breaking distinctly into the embarrassing silence:

“Can’t read it, cause teacher wrote it.”

This was the last straw. Slow to wrath as he always was, Aleck had thus far kept his temper. But this charge filled him with sudden anger and resentment. He turned his eyes, blazing with fury, toward the boy by the rear wall, whom he knew was baiting him, and shouted:

“That’s a lie, Elmer Cuddeback, and you know it!”

At once confusion reigned. People stood up and looked around to get a possible glimpse of the object of Aleck’s denunciation. Some one cried: “Put him out!”

Two or three members of the Riverbeds started threateningly toward Elmer, and his friends struggled to get closer to him. An excitable woman in the audience screamed. Miss Grey was pounding vigorously with her gavel, but to no effect. Then Colonel Butler himself took matters in hand. He rose to his feet, stretched out his arm, and shouted:

“Order! Order! Resume your seats!”

People sat down again. The belligerent boys halted in their tracks. Everyone felt that the colonel must be obeyed. He waited, in commanding attitude, until order had been restored, then he continued:

“The young gentleman who undertook to respond to my address was stricken with what is commonly known as stage-fright. That is no discredit to him. It is a malady that attacked so great a man and so brave a warrior as General Grant. I may add that I, myself, have suffered from it on occasion. And now that order has been restored we will proceed with the regular program, and Master Sands will finish the delivery of his address.”

He stepped back to give the respondent the floor; but Master Sands was nowhere in sight. In the confusion he had disappeared. The colonel looked around him expectantly for a moment, and then again advanced to the front of the platform.

“In the absence of our young friend,” he said, “whose address, I am sure, would have been received with the approbation it deserves, I, myself, will occupy a portion of the time thus made vacant, in still further expounding to you

But at this moment, notwithstanding his effort to avoid it, he again caught his daughter’s warning look, and saw her forefinger held threateningly in the air.

“I am reminded, however,” he continued, “by one in the audience whose judgment I am bound to respect, that it is not appropriate for me to make both the speech of presentation and the address on behalf of the recipient. I will, therefore, conclude by thanking you for your attendance and your attention, and by again adjuring you to honor, protect and preserve this beautiful emblem of our national liberties.”

He had scarcely taken his seat amid the applause that his words always evoked, before Miss Grey was on her feet announcing the closing number of the program, the song “America,” by the entire audience.

Whether it was due to the excitement of the occasion, or, as the colonel afterward modestly suggested, to the spirit of patriotism aroused by his remarks, it is a fact that no one present had ever before heard the old song sung with more vim and feeling.

The audience was dismissed.

Colonel Butler’s friends came forward to congratulate and thank him. The Hilltops, chuckling gleefully, with Elmer Cuddeback in their center, marched off up-town. The Riverbeds, downcast and revengeful, made their way down the hill. But Aleck Sands was not with them. He had already left the school-building and had gone home. He was angry and bitterly resentful. He felt that he could have faced any one, at any time, in open warfare, but to be humiliated and ridiculed in public, that was more than even his phlegmatic nature could stand. He could not forget it. He could not forgive those who had caused it. Days, weeks, years were not sufficient to blot entirely from his heart the feeling of revenge that entered it that winter afternoon.

It was late on the same day that Colonel Butler stood with his back to the blazing wood-fire in the library, waiting for his supper to be served, and looking out into the hall on the folds of the handsome, silk, American flag draped against the wall. There had always been a flag in the hall. Colonel Butler’s father had placed one there when he built the house and went to live in it. And when, later on, the colonel fell heir to the property, and rebuilt and modernized the home, he replaced the old flag of bunting with the present one of silk. Indeed, it was on account of the place and prominence given to the flag that the homestead had been known for many years as Bannerhall.

Pen sat at the library table preparing his lessons for the following day.

“Well, Penfield,” said the colonel, “a what did you think of my speech to-day?”

“I thought it was great,” replied Pen. “Pretty near as good as the one you delivered last Memorial Day.”

The colonel smiled with satisfaction. “Yes,” he remarked, “I, myself, thought it was pretty good; or would have been if your aunt Millicent had permitted me to complete it. It was also unfortunate that your young friend was not able fully to carry out his part of the program.”

“You mean Aleck Sands?”

“I believe that is the young gentleman’s name.”

“He’s not my friend, grandfather.”

“Tut! Tut! You should not harbor resentment because of his having outwitted you in the matter of procuring the flag. Especially in view of his discomfiture of to-day.”

“It wasn’t my fault that he flunked.”

“I am not charging you with that responsibility, sir. I am simply appealing to your generosity. By the way, I understand I have learned this afternoon, that there exists what may be termed a feud between the boys of Chestnut Hill and those of Chestnut Valley. Have I been correctly informed?”

“Why, yes; I guess I suppose you might call it that.”

“And I have been informed also that you are the leader of what are facetiously termed the ‘Hilltops,’ and that our young friend, Master Sands, is the leader of what are termed, still more facetiously, the ‘Riverbeds.’ Is this true?”

Pen closed his book and hesitated. He felt that a reproof was coming, to be followed, perhaps, by strict orders concerning his own neutrality.

“Well,” he stammered, “I I guess that’s about right. Anyway our fellows sort o’ depend on me to help ’em hold their own.”

Pen was not looking at his grandfather. If he had been he would have seen a twinkle of satisfaction in the old gentleman’s eyes. It was something for a veteran of the civil war to have a grandson who had been chosen to the leadership of his fellows for the purpose of engaging in juvenile hostilities. So there was no shadow of reproof in the colonel’s voice as he asked his next question.

“And what, may I inquire, is, or has been, the casus belli?”

“The what, sir?”

“The a cause or causes which have produced the present state of hostility.”

“Why, I don’t know nothing in particular, I guess only they’re all the time doing mean things, and boasting they can lick us if we give ’em a chance; and I I’m for giving ’em the chance.”

Reproof or no reproof, he had spoken his mind. He had risen from his chair, and stood before his grandfather with determination written in every line of his flushed face. Colonel Butler looked at him and chuckled.

“Very good!” he said. He chuckled again and repeated: “Very good!”

Pen stared at him in astonishment. He could not quite understand his attitude.

“Now, Penfield,” continued the old gentleman, “mind you, I do not approve of petty jealousies and quarrelings, nor of causeless assaults. But, when any person is assailed, it is his peculiar privilege, sir, to hit back. And when he hits he should hit hard. He should use both strategy and force. He should see to it, sir, that his enemy is punished. Have your two hostile bodies yet met in open conflict on the field?”

“Why,” replied Pen, still amazed at the course things were taking, “we’ve had one or two rather lively little scraps. But I suppose, after what happened to-day, they’ll want to fight. If they do want to, we’re ready for ’em.”

The colonel had left his place in front of the fire, and was pacing up and down the room.

“Very good!” he exclaimed, “very good! Men and nations should always be prepared for conflict. To that end young men should learn the art of fighting, so that when the call to arms comes, as I foresee that it will come, the nation will be ready.”

He stopped in his walk and faced his grandson.

“Not that I deprecate the arts of peace, Penfield. By no means! It is by those arts that nations have grown great. But, in my humble judgment, sir, as a citizen and a soldier, the only way to preserve peace, and to ensure greatness, is to be at all times ready for war. We must instil the martial spirit into our young men, we must rouse their fighting blood, we must teach them the art of war, so that if the flag is ever insulted or assailed they will be ready to protect it with their bodies and their blood. Learn to fight; to fight honorably, bravely, skillfully, and to fight hard.”

“Father Richard Butler!”

It was Aunt Millicent who spoke. She had come on them from the hall unawares, and had overheard the final words of the colonel’s adjuration.

“Father Richard Butler,” she repeated, “what heresy is this you are teaching to Pen?”

He made a brave but hopeless effort to justify his course.

“I am teaching him,” he replied, “the duty that devolves upon every patriotic citizen.”

“Patriotic fiddlesticks!” she exclaimed. “I have no patience with such blood-thirsty doctrines. And, Pen, listen! If I ever hear of your fighting with anybody, at any time, you’ll have your aunt Millicent to deal with, I promise you that. Now come to supper, both of you.”

It was not until nearly the close of the afternoon session on the following day that Miss Grey referred to the unfortunate incident of the day before. She expressed her keen regret, and her sense of humiliation, over the occurrence that had marred the program, and requested Elmer Cuddeback, Aleck Sands and Penfield Butler to remain after school that she might confer with them concerning some proper form of apology to Colonel Butler. But when she had the three boys alone with her, and referred to the shameful discourtesy with which the donor of the flag had been treated, tears came into her eyes, and her voice trembled to the point of breaking. No one could have helped feeling sorry for her; especially the three boys who were most concerned.

“I don’t think,” said Pen, consolingly, “that grandfather minded it very much. He doesn’t talk as if he did.”

“Let us hope,” she replied, “that he was not too greatly shocked, or too deeply disgusted. Elmer, your conduct was wholly inexcusable, and I’m going to punish you. But, Pen, you and Aleck are the leaders, and I want this disgraceful feud between you up-town and down-town boys to stop. I want you both to promise me that this will be the end of it.”

She looked from one to the other appealingly, but, for a moment, neither boy replied. Then Aleck spoke up.

“Our fellows,” he said, “feel pretty sore over the way I was treated yesterday; and I don’t believe they’d be willing to give up till they get even somehow.”

To which Pen responded:

“They’re welcome to try to get even if they want to. Were ready for ’em.”

Miss Grey threw up her hands in despair.

“Oh boys! boys!” she exclaimed. “Why will you be so foolish and obstinate? What kind of men do you suppose you’ll make if you spend your school-days quarreling and fighting with each other?”

“Well, I don’t know,” replied Pen. “My grandfather thinks it isn’t such a bad idea for boys to try their mettle on each other, so long as they fight fair. He thinks they’ll make better soldiers sometime. And he says the country is going to need soldiers after awhile.”

She looked up in surprise.

“But I don’t want my boys to become soldiers,” she protested. “I don’t want war. I don’t believe in it. I hate it.”

She had reason to hate war, for her own father had been wounded at Chancellorsville, and she remembered her mother’s long years of privation and sorrow. Again her lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears. There was an awkward pause; for each boy sympathized with her and would have been willing to help her had a way been opened that would not involve too much of sacrifice. Elmer Cuddeback, even in the face of his forthcoming punishment, was still the most tenderhearted of the three, and he struggled to her relief.

“Can’t can’t we make some sort o’ compromise?” he suggested.

But Pen, too, had been thinking, and an idea had occurred to him. And before any reply could be made to Elmer’s suggestion he offered his own solution to the difficulty.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Miss Grey,” he said, “and what I’ll get our fellows to do. We’ll have one, big snowball fight. And the side that gets licked ’ll stay licked till school’s out next spring. And there won’t be any more scrapping all winter. We’ll do that, won’t we, Elmer?”

“Sure we will,” responded Elmer confidently.

Aleck did not reply. Miss Grey thought deeply for a full minute. Perhaps, after all, Pen’s proposition pointed to the best way out of the difficulty. Indeed, it was the only way along which there now seemed to be any light. She turned to Aleck.

“Well,” she asked, “what do you think of it?”

“Why, I don’t know,” he replied. “I’d like to talk with some of our fellows about it first.”

He was always cautious, conservative, slow to act unless the emergency called for action.

“No,” replied Pen. “I won’t wait. It’s a fair offer, and you’ll take it now or let it alone.”

“Then,” said Aleck, doggedly, “I’ll take it, and you’ll be sorry you ever made it.”

Lest active hostilities should break out at once, Miss Grey interrupted:

“Now, boys, I don’t approve of it. I don’t approve of it at all. I think young men like you should be in better business than pelting each other, even with snowballs. But, as it appears to be the only way out of the difficulty, and in the hope that it will put an end to this ridiculous feud, I’m willing that you should go ahead and try it. Do it and have it over with as soon as possible, and don’t let me know when it’s going to happen, or anything about it, until you’re all through.”

It was with deep misgivings concerning the success of the plan that she dismissed the boys; and more than once during the next few days she was on the point of withdrawing her permission for the fight to take place. Many times afterwards she regretted keenly that she had not done so.