ed about by boys of his own
age filled him with envy. And one of them, when he first caught sight of
it, inspired him with a stronger feeling than envy. It was painted white
and was gay with blue and red stripes around the gunwale. In it sat two
boys. One, who sat in the stern, was about Gordon's age; the other, a
little larger than Gordon, was rowing and used the oars like an adept.
In the bow was a flag, and Gordon was staring at it, when it came to him
with a rush that it was a "Yankee" flag. He was conscious for half a
moment that he took some pride in the superiority of the oarsman over
the boys in the other boats. His next thought was that he had a little
Confederate flag in his trunk. He had brought it from home among his
other treasures. He would show his colors and not let the Yankee boys
have all of the honors. So away he put as hard as his legs could carry
him. When he got back to the waterside he hired a boat from among those
lying tied at the stairs, and soon had his little flag rigged up, when,
taking his seat, he picked up the oars and pushed off. It was rather
more difficult than it had looked. The oars would not go together.
However, after a little he was able to move slowly, and was quite elated
at his success when he found himself out on the lake. Just then he
heard a shout:

"Take down that flag!"

Gordon wished to turn his boat and look around, but could not do so.
However, one of the oars came out of the water, and as the boat veered a
little he saw the boys in the white boat with the Union flag bearing
down on him.

The oarsman was rowing with strong, swift strokes even while he looked
over his shoulder, and the boat was shooting along as straight as an
arrow, with the clear water curling about its prow. Gordon wished for a
moment that he had not been so daring, but the next second his
fighting--blood was up, as the other boy called imperiously:

"Strike that flag!"

Gordon could see his face now, for he was almost on him. It was round
and sunburnt, and the eyes were blue and clear and flashing with
excitement. His companion, who was cheering him on, was Ferdy
Wickersham.

"Strike that flag, I say," called the oarsman.

"I won't. Who are you? Strike your own flag."

"I am Norman Wentworth. That's who I am, and if you don't take that flag
down I will take it down for you, you little nigger-driving rebel."

Gordon Keith was not a boy to neglect the amenities of the occasion.

"Come and