rest. And yet and yet, until that far-off day shall come when the hearts of all men shall be purged of selfishness and sin, what nobler flag, what symbol of a better government, more free from tyranny, more blest with liberty, more rich with opportunity, floats anywhere in all the world? Day by day, year by year, rising out of turmoil and tribulation and the constant struggle for better things, to ever higher and broader planes of life and levels of true democracy, what other people on earth have a greater right or a richer incentive to love the one flag that protects their homes and thrills their hearts, than the people of the United States of America?

The colors were at the top of the staff, the halyards were fastened to the clamps, the company was brought to an "order arms," and again to a rest at will, and the period of waiting was resumed. But Lieutenant McCormack's eyes were still fixed on the flag. Somehow, suddenly, there was a fascination in the sight of it that he could not resist; his country's flag, the flag of his ancestors, the symbol of the soul of America; America, his home. That strange grip on his heart grew tighter, firmer, deeper was it pain, was it sweetness, was it one of that trio of highest and noblest sentiments that stir humanity, love of one's own country as distinct from every other country in the world, that caused his eyes to fill with tears as he stood with raised head and gazed on the "Banner of the Stars"?

He was suddenly aware that some one was standing at his side, and when he looked down he saw that it was General Chick. The boy, too, was staring at the colors.

"Ain't it beautiful?" he asked.

"Chick," was the reply, "I feel this morning that that flag is the most beautiful thing in the world, and that every American citizen should love it."

"And," added Chick, "should ought to want to be a soldier an' fight under it. That's what I've been wanting to be; but lately I'm kind o' discouraged."

"Why discouraged, Chick?"

"Oh, I'm afraid I won't never git into the Guard now. It feels as though somethin's gone wrong inside o' me."

McCormack looked down at the boy, at his gray face, his hollow eyes, his sunken cheeks, at the evidences of physical pain with which his countenance was marked, and he felt a sudden pity for him.

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You're not well, Chick," he said; "you ought not to be here."

"I know," was the labored reply. "But I couldn't help comin'. I heard about it, an' I got up an' come away while the old woman was asleep."

A wan smile spread over his face at the memory of his diplomatic escape.

"I thought, mebbe," he continued, "I might never see the boys ag'in-in action; and I-wanted to see 'em."

"Chick, you must go back home. You're too ill to stay here."

The boy ignored the command and asked a question.

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'They ain't through tryin' you yet, air they?" "No, the trial will be resumed next Tuesday. Chick, you

"Well, Mr. 'Cormack, if I should-should jest happen, you know-to die before then, they couldn't git nothin' on you, could they?"

He was leaning against a tie-post at the curb, trembling and exhausted. He looked up anxiously and wistfully at the lieutenant as he spoke.

McCormack bent down and put his arm around the boy's shoulder and turned his face toward the city.

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Chick, don't talk that way. You can't hurt me in a thousand years so much as I've hurt myself many a time in a day. Now go back home and try to get well. We can't do without you in the Guard."

A man came across the plaza from the Barriscale offices, and thrust a written message into the lieutenant's hands. It was to the effect that the marchers were at the outskirts of the city; that they had sacked provision and liquor stores on their way,

were drunk, riotous, boastful and destructive, and would reach the plaza in less than ten minutes.

Even as McCormack finished reading the message he heard in the distance the dull roar that presaged the coming of the mob.

CHAPTER XVI

WHEN Lieutenant McCormack, after reading

the message announcing the coming of the mob, crossed the plaza and faced his company, he found his men already in ranks and standing at "order arms." They also had heard the ominous sound of approaching disorder. Already the forefront of the procession was in sight on the street leading up from the south. Inflamed with the liquor which they had seized in the course of their journey, the exuberant and reckless spirit of the marchers was showing itself. Men were singing, shouting, waving clubs, demanding justice for their fellow-workers, and the recognition of the rule of the proletariat. At the junction of every street and alley their members had been swelled by the angry and resentful Industrialists of Fairweather. The cordon of police that had attempted to block their way was swept down as though it had been a rope of straw. Now, five hundred strong, reckless and determined, they were bearing down on the center of the city's industries.

The waiting hundreds of citizens who, for the last hour, had lined the curbs about the open place, be