ompany who shall
be found guilty of a lie, a theft, or bullying the weak and
defenceless, shall be cast out by common vote. We will strive to be a
credit to our beloved home--true American citizens, who may dare to ask
God to bless them in all their undertakings and prosper all they do.
Boys, do you agree to these regulations? If so, I shall rejoice to be
your captain. If not, I must sadly bid adieu to the Fairport Guard, and
with this time-honored musket in my hand, stand alone on the threshold
of my home in the hour of danger, trusting in God and in the strength of
this single right-arm."

As Blair concluded, he grounded his musket, and stood silently awaiting
the reply of his companions.

There was a moment of hesitation; then one of the older boys, the
first-lieutenant, stepped forward and silently placed himself at the
side of his young commander. In true martial style the whole company
followed, arraying themselves around their leader.

"We agree! We agree! We agree to every thing!" shouted one and all.

"May God help us to keep to our compact," said Blair. Then, after a
short pause, he added, "Let me propose to you a new member for our
company--my friend Hal Hutchings, who, born on English soil, is yet a
true American at heart. Let all in favor of his admission say Aye."

Hal had been striving to give himself a military air by appearing in his
red flannel shirt and trousers, while Old Jock's red night-cap was
perched above the yellow curls of the boy. As his name was mentioned, he
raised to his shoulder a borrowed crutch which served him for a musket,
as if to signify his readiness for martial duty.

"The English boy! Admit the English boy!" said several voices; but a
hearty "Aye, aye" from two or three prominent members of the company
decided the question in Hal's favor, and he was admitted at once by
general consent.

Forming now in regular ranks, the Fairport Guard went through their
usual drill, and then set off in a creditable march, to let the citizens
have a view of their doughty defenders.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VI.

A PILOT.

It is strange that the moon generally has all the blame for fickleness,
when the sun quite as often hides his face without sufficient warning.
The Fairport Guard had hardly made the circuit of the town, before the
late smiling sky was overcast by dark hurrying clouds, and the
weatherwise began to predict a coming storm, which was to be "no joke on
sea or lan