e
present. Every scout in the troop will report at scout headquarters until
further notice, every day, at nine o'clock in the morning.

"I think we'll have to make up our minds not to play many games for the
time that is coming. There is real work ahead of us if war comes--work just
as real and just as hard, in its way, as if we were all going to fight for
England. Everyone cannot fight, but the ones who stay at home and do the
work that comes to their hands will serve England just as loyally as if
they were on the firing line! Now--up, all of you! Three cheers for King
George!"

They were given with a will--and Harry Fleming joined in as heartily as any
of them. He was as much of an American as he had ever been, but something
in him responded with a strange thrill to England's need, as Grenfel had
expressed it. After all, England had been and was the mother country.
England and America had fought, in their time, and America had won, but
now, for a hundred years, there had been peace between them. And he and
these English boys were of the same blood and the same language, binding
them very closely together.

"Blood is thicker than water, after all!" he thought.

Then every scout there shook hands with John Grenfel. He smiled as he
greeted them.

"I hope this will pass over," he said, "and that we'll do together during
this vacation all the things we've planned to do. But if we can't, and if
I'm called away, good-bye! Do your duty as scouts, and I'll know it
somehow! And, in case I don't see you again, good-bye!"

"You're going to stand with us, then, Fleming?" he said, as Harry came up
to shake hands. "Good boy! We're of one blood, we English and you
Americans. We've had our quarrels, but relatives always do quarrel. And
you'll not be asked, as a scout here, to do anything an American shouldn't
do."

Then it was over. They were out in the street. In the distance newsboys
were yelling their extras still. Many people were out, something unusual in
that quiet neighborhood. And suddenly one of the scouts lifted his voice,
and in a moment they were all singing:

Rule, rule, Britannia!
Britannia rules the waves!
Britons never, never, never shall be slaves!

Scores of voices swelled the chorus, joining the fresh young voices of the
scouts. And then someone started that swinging march song that had leaped
into popularity at the time of the Boer War, _Soldiers of the Queen_. The
words were trifling, but t