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 rehea.r.s.ed 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 sh.o.r.es 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 n.o.bly 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 sh.o.r.e, 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 ma.n.u.script 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 ma.n.u.script 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 ma.n.u.script 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 ma.n.u.script 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Aleck Turned it Upside Down and Rightside Up, But Failed to Find the Place]

Again the insistent, high-pitched whisper from the rear, breaking distinctly into the embarra.s.sing 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: