ignation in his heart. What stories he would have to tell when he
went back to his woodland home.

All that he heard, however, was not of a sad or gloomy nature. These
sturdy men enjoyed humorous yarns, and as Dane listened to several, he
joined in the laughter that ensued. One, especially, appealed to him.
It was told by a big strapping fellow, who hitherto had taken little
part in the talk.

"Your yarns can't equal that of the shoemaker of Richmond, Virginia" he
began. "When the rebels were passing through the town he stood in the
door of his house and cried out 'Hurrah for King George.' He followed
the soldiers to a wood, where they had halted, and began again to
hurrah for King George. When the commanding officer and his aides had
mounted and were moving on, the shoemaker followed, still hurrahing for
King George. The officer, therefore, ordered that he should be taken
to the river and ducked. This was done, and he was plunged several
times under the water. But whenever his head appeared above the
surface he would shout for King George. He was then taken to his own
house, where his wife and four daughters were crying and beseeching him
to hold his tongue. The top of a barrel of tar was knocked off, and
the man was plunged in headlong. He was then pulled out by the heels,
and rolled in a mass of feathers, from a bed which had been taken from
his own house, until he presented a strange, horrible sight. But
through it all, whenever he could get his mouth open, he would hurrah
for King George. He was then driven out of the town, and the officer
warned him that he would be shot if he troubled them again. That is
the story as it was told me, and I think it a mighty good one."

Dane longed to hear more tales of that wonderful land, and of the great
fights which had taken place. But just then a strange sound startled
him. It was the roll of a drum, followed almost immediately by the
shrill notes of several fifes. He could not see the musicians, as they
were some distance away to the left. But he knew what they were
playing, for he was quite familiar with the tune and words of the old
fireside song. A sudden silence fell upon the little band around the
fire. Bronzed faces became grave, and more than one man's eyes grew
misty with honest tears.

Barely had the notes of this tune died away when the men were roused to
action by the stirring strains of the National Anthem. They sprang to
their feet as o