e hat rolled into the gutter, and one
of the King's white horses put his hoof through it. The hatter cried
like a child when he saw the work of his loving hands thus ruined. But
they carried him off to prison and kept him shut up there until he
died and paid the penalty for his crime of desecrating the Abbey."

"Oh, the poor old hatter! But is that the end of the story, Daddy?"
The Little Chap's disappointment was markedly pronounced.

"No, Son, there is a little more to come. I meant to tell you that the
hatter had reared a large family of boys. His sons all married and, in
turn, raised large families. These numerous relatives or kin took the
name of Hatterskin. In course of time that became shortened to
Hatkins, and so remained until the British habit of dropping their H's
reduced it to Atkins.

"At last the proud King died and was buried with great ceremony in the
Abbey. Year followed year, and century succeeded century. England,
although blessed with a Royal pair both humane and good, was ruled by
an even wiser monarch--the Sovereign People.

"Then came an August day when the black thunder-cloud of war darkened
her smiling horizon. Four bloody, terrible years the conflict lasted.
And when at last an armistice was signed, the stricken people went
wild with joy."

The Big Chap's gaze returned to the canvas with its scene of mediaeval
splendour. A mystic light smouldered in his eyes as, unconscious of
his surroundings and his youthful auditor, he continued: "On the
second anniversary of that happy day an unprecedented thing happened.
Before the ancient Abbey a gun carriage, bearing the flag-draped
casket of an unidentified warrior, came to rest on the very spot where
the gilded coach of the proud King once had stopped. Again the square
was crowded, as on that day in the long ago when the poor hatter
foolishly tried to honour his sovereign. The traditions of centuries
toppled when the body of the unknown soldier passed through those
storied portals followed by the King of England as chief mourner. In
the dim, historic chapel the king stood, in advance of princes, prime
ministers, and the famous leaders of both army and navy. Like the
humble hatter of old his royal head was reverently bared as the
nameless hero was laid among the silent company of England's
illustrious dead. 'The Boast of Heraldry and the Pomp of Power' bowed
in silent homage before the remains of a once common soldier. Thus
Loyalty and Service eve