f the name
is fastened on him. As Harry went on his errand, he no longer whistled,
at least he didn't whistle much. And as he went to school next day, and
next day, and next day, and found himself left out in the cold, he would
have been more than the usual twelve-year-old laddie if he had not felt
his courage fail. But he had his motto text to bolster him up.

"Clean hands, Harry, and a pure heart," said Mrs. Pemberton, cheerfully.
"It cannot be right to steal flowers or anything else even to decorate
the graves of our brave soldiers."

And so the time passed--kite time, top time, hoop time, marble time.

It was the evening before Memorial Day, at last.

There was a good deal of stirring in the village. It was splendid
moonlight. You could see to read large print. A whole crowd of boys met
at the store and took their way across lots to the beautiful old Eliot
place. The big house, with its broad porch and white columns, stood out
in the glory of the moon. The gardens were sweet in the dew. Violets,
lilies, roses, lilacs, snow-drops, whole beds of them.

Every boy, and there were ten of them, had a basket and a pair of
shears. They meant to get all the flowers they could carry and despoil
the Eliot place, if necessary, to make the cemetery a grand looking spot
to-morrow, when the veterans and the militia should be out with bands of
music and flying flags, and the Governor, no less, coming in person to
review the troops and make a speech in the very place where his own
father was buried.

In went the boys. Over the stile, up the paths, clear on toward the
front portico. They separated into little groups and began to cut their
flowers, the Eliots' flowers, all the Eliots in Europe, and not a soul
on hand to save their property.

Suddenly the boys were arrested and paralyzed with fright.

An immense form leaped from behind the house and a deep-throated, baying
bark resounded in a threatening roar. Juno, Squire Eliot's famous
mastiff, the one that had taken a prize at the dog show, bounded out
toward the marauders. They turned to fly, when a stern voice bade them
stop.

"You young rapscallions! You trespassers! You rascals! Stop this
instant or I'll thrash every one of you! Humph!" said Squire Eliot,
brandishing his cane, as the boys stopped and tremblingly came forward.
"This is how my neighbors' sons treat my property when I'm away. Line up
there against the fence, every one of you. _Charge_, Juno! _Charge_,
go