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THE FLAG

By

HOMER GREENE


Author of
"The Unhallowed Harvest,"
"Pickett's Gap," "The Blind Brother," etc.


[Illustration]


PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO
PUBLISHERS




_Copyright, 1917
George W. Jacobs & Company_

_All rights reserved
Printed in U. S. A._




[Illustration: He Glared Defiantly About Him]




List of Illustrations


    He Glared Defiantly About Him                       _Frontispiece_

    Aleck Turned it Upside Down and Rightside Up,
    But Failed to Find the Place                        _Facing p. 54_

    Into the Face of Death He Led the Remnant of
    His Brave Platoon                                       "      274

    The French Hospital's Greeting to the
    American Colonel                                        "      316




THE FLAG

CHAPTER I


Snow everywhere; freshly fallen, white and beautiful. It lay unsullied
on the village roofs, and, trampled but not yet soiled, in the village
streets. The spruce trees on the lawn at Bannerhall were weighted with
it, and on the lawn itself it rested, like an ermine blanket, soft and
satisfying. Down the steps of the porch that stretched across the
front of the mansion, a boy ran, whistling, to the street.

He was slender and wiry, agile and sure-footed. He had barely reached
the gate when the front door of the square, stately old brick house
was opened and a woman came out on the porch and called to him.

"Pen!"

"Yes, Aunt Millicent." He turned to listen to her.

"Pen, don't forget that your grandfather's going to New York on the
five-ten train, and that you are to be at the station to see him off."

"I won't forget, auntie."

"And then come straight home."

"Straight as a string, Aunt Milly."

"All right! Good-by!"

"Good-by!"

He passed through the gate, and down the street toward the center of
the village. It was the noon recess and he was on his way back to
school where he must report at one-fifteen sharp. He had an abundance
of time, however, and he stopped in front of the post-office to talk
with another boy about the coasting on Drake's Hill. It was while he
was standing there that some one called to him from the street. Seated
in an old-fashioned cutter drawn by an old gray horse were an old man
and a young woman. The woman's face flushed and brightened, and her
eyes shone with gladness, as Pen leaped from the sidewalk and ran
toward her.

"Why, mother!" he cried. "I didn't expect to see you. Are you in for a
sleigh-ride?"

She bent over and kissed him and patted his cheek before she replied,

"Yes, dearie. Grandpa had to come to town; and it's so beautiful after
the snow that I begged to come along."

Then the old man, round-faced and rosy, with a fringe of gray whiskers
under his chin, and a green and red comforter about his neck, reached
out a mittened hand and shook hands with Pen.

"Couldn't keep her to hum," he said, "when she seen me hitchin' up old
Charlie."

He laughed good-naturedly and tucked the buffalo-robe in under him.

"How's grandma?" asked Pen.

"Jest about as usual," was the reply. "When you comin' out to see us?"

"I don't know. Maybe a week from Saturday. I'll see."

Then Pen's mother spoke again.

"You were going to school, weren't you? We won't keep you. Give my
love to Aunt Millicent; and come soon to see us."

She kissed him again; the old man clicked to his horse, and succeeded,
after some effort, in starting him, and Pen returned to the sidewalk
and resumed his journey toward school.

It was noticeable that no one had spoken of Colonel Butler, the
grandfather with whom Pen lived at Bannerhall on the main street of
Chestnut Hill. There was a reason for that. Colonel Butler was Pen's
paternal grandfather; and Colonel Butler's son had married contrary to
his father's wish. When, a few years later, the son died, leaving a
widow and an only child, Penfield, the colonel had so far relented as
to offer a home to his grandson, and to provide an annuity for the
widow. She declined the annuity for herself, but accepted the offer of
a home for her son. She knew that it would be a home where, in charge
of his aunt Millicent, her boy would receive every advantage of care,
education and culture. So she kissed him good-by and left him there,
and she herself, ill, penniless and wretched, went back to live with
her father on the little farm at Cobb's Corners, five miles away. But
all that was ten years before, and Pen was now fourteen. That he had
been well cared for was manifest in his clothing, his countenance,
his bearing and his whole demeanor as he hurried along the partly
swept pavement toward his destination.

A few blocks farther on he overtook a school-fellow, and, as they
walked together, they discussed the war.

For war had been declared. It had not only been declared, it was in
actual progress.

Equipped and generalled, stubborn and aggressive, the opposing forces
had faced each other for weeks. Yet it had not been a sanguinary
conflict. Aside from a few bruised shins and torn coats and missing
caps, there had been no casualties worth mentioning. It was not a
country-wide war. It was, indeed, a war of which no history save this
veracious chronicle, gives any record.

The contending armies were composed of boys. And the boys were
residents, respectively, of the Hill and the Valley; two villages,
united under the original name of Chestnut Hill, and so closely joined
together that it would have been impossible for a stranger to tell
where one ended and the other began. The Hill, back on the plateau,
had the advantage of age and the prestige that wealth gives. The
Valley, established down on the river bank when the railroad was built
through, had the benefit of youth and the virtue of aggressiveness.
Yet they were mutually interdependent. One could not have prospered
without the aid of the other. When the new graded-school building was
erected, it was located on the brow of the hill in order to
accommodate pupils from both villages. From that time the boys who
lived on the hill were called Hilltops, and those who lived in the
valley were called Riverbeds. Just when the trouble began, or what was
the specific cause of it, no one seemed exactly to know. Like Topsy,
it simply grew. With the first snow of the winter came the first
physical clash between the opposing forces of Hilltops and Riverbeds.
It was a mild enough encounter, but it served to whet the appetites of
the young combatants for more serious warfare. Miss Grey, the
principal of the school, was troubled and apprehensive. She had
encouraged a friendly rivalry between the two sets of boys in matters
of intellectual achievement, but she greatly deprecated such a state
of hostility as would give rise to harsh feelings or physical
violence. She knew that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to
coerce them into peace and harmony, so she set about to contrive some
method by which the mutual interest of the boys could be aroused and
blended toward the accomplishment of a common object.

The procuring of an American flag for the use of the school had long
been talked of, and it occurred to her now that if she could stimulate
a friendly rivalry among her pupils, in an effort to obtain funds for
the purchase of a flag, it might divert their minds from thoughts of
hostility to each other, into channels where a laudable competition
would be provocative of harmony. So she decided, after consultation
with the two grade teachers, to prepare two subscription blanks, each
with its proper heading, and place them respectively in the hands of
Penfield Butler captain of the Hilltops, and Alexander Sands commander
of the Riverbeds. The other pupils would be instructed to fall in
behind these leaders and see which party could obtain, not necessarily
the most money, but the largest number of subscriptions. She felt
that interest in the flag would be aroused by the numbers contributing
rather than by the amount contributed. It was during the session of
the school that afternoon that she made the announcement of her plan,
and delivered the subscription papers to the two captains. She aroused
much enthusiasm by the little speech she made, dwelling on the beauty
and symbolism of the flag, and the patriotic impulse that would be
aroused and strengthened by having it always in sight.

No one questioned the fact that Pen Butler was the leader of the
Hilltops, nor did any one question the similar fact that Aleck Sands
was the leader of the Riverbeds. There had never been any election or
appointment, to be sure, but, by common consent and natural selection,
these two had been chosen in the beginning as commanders of the
separate hosts.

When, therefore, the subscription blanks were put into the hands of
these boys as leaders, every one felt that nothing would be left
undone by either to win fame and honor for his party in the matter of
the flag.

So, when the afternoon session of school closed, every one had
forgotten, for the time being at least, the old rivalry, and was ready
to enlist heartily in the new one.

There was fine coasting that day on Drake's Hill. The surface of the
road-bed, hard and smooth, had been worn through in patches, but the
snow-fall of the night before had so dressed it over as to make it
quite perfect for this exhilarating winter sport.

As he left the school-house Pen looked at his watch, a gift from his
grandfather Butler on his last birthday, and found that he would have
more than half an hour in which to enjoy himself at coasting before it
would be necessary to start for the railroad station to see Colonel
Butler off on the train. So, with his companions, he went to Drake's
Hill. It was fine sport indeed. The bobs had never before descended so
swiftly nor covered so long a stretch beyond the incline. But, no
matter how fascinating the sport, Pen kept his engagement in mind and
intended to leave the hill in plenty of time to meet it. There were
especial reasons this day why he should do so. In the first place
Colonel Butler would be away from home for nearly a week, and it had
always been Pen's custom to see his grandfather off on a journey, even
though he were to be gone but a day. And in the next place he wanted
to be sure to get Colonel Butler's name at the head of his flag
subscription list. This would doubtless be the most important
contribution to be made to the fund.

At half-past four he decided to take one more ride and then start for
the station. But on that ride an accident occurred. The bobs on which
the boys were seated collapsed midway of the descent, and threw the
coasters into a heap in the ditch. None of them was seriously hurt,
though the loose stones among which they were thrown were not
sufficiently cushioned by the snow to prevent some bruises, and
abrasions of the skin. Of course there was much confusion and
excitement. There was scrambling, and rubbing of hurt places, and an
immediate investigation into the cause of the wreck. In the midst of
it all Pen forgot about his engagement. When the matter did recur to
his mind he glanced at his watch and found that it lacked but twelve
