had
been called, the sergeants of the several companies reported all present
or accounted for. But still there were some boys missing, and no report
was made as to their whereabouts. A familiar voice answered to Marcy
Gray's name, but it was not Marcy's voice. Rodney's quick ear detected
the cheat, and when ranks were broken he looked everywhere for his
cousin, but he was not to be seen. With frantic gestures Rodney summoned
a few of his right-hand men to his side and communicated his fears to
them in hasty, whispered words.

"Seen Marcy during roll-call?" he inquired.

No one had. Didn't he answer to his name?

"No, he did not," replied Rodney, hastily scanning the faces of the
students that filed by him on their way out of the court. "Somebody
answered 'here,' but it wasn't Marcy. The sergeant must know where he
is, for he reported the company present or accounted for."

"Doesn't that go to show that Marcy and the chap who answered to his
name, as well as the sergeant himself, must be in some sort of a plot?"
inquired Billings.

"I'll bet they are on the tower," declared Rodney. "Let's go up there,
quick."

Rodney's friends did not at first see what Marcy could be doing on the
tower, for had not Dick Graham assured them that the flag was all right,
and that they would never see it hoisted again? But if Marcy suspected
that his Cousin Rodney would make an effort to run up his new
Confederate flag in place of the Stars and Stripes, might it not be that
he and a chosen squad had taken possession of the tower, intending to
hold it so that Rodney could not carry out his design? If that was the
case there was bound to be a struggle more or less desperate, and
Rodney's adherents would be expected to be on hand; so they followed him
to the top of the tower, but halted when they got there, astonished and
appalled at the scene that was presented to their gaze. The cousins were
clinched and swaying about in alarming proximity to the low parapet,
over which they were in imminent danger of falling to the ground; the
sentry on duty was vainly endeavoring to part them by placing his musket
between the struggling boys and crowding them toward the middle of the
tower; and Marcy Gray was clinging to the halliards leading up to the
masthead, from which the starry flag was floating in all its glory. It
was not the old flag, however, but a newer and better one, whose glossy
folds had never before been kissed by the breeze.

"Sto