w many stars?" "Forty-five!" shouted the large flags.

The little ones said nothing.

"Ah, I see," said Old Glory, "but you are not to blame. Do you see
that open transom?" he went on. "Go through it into the street, put
your staffs into the hands of any little boys you find and bring them
here."

"Yes, captain," called the flags, as they fluttered away.

Last of all, Old Glory pulled his silken stripes into the hallway and
waited for the flags to come back. "It's much too cold for little
girls," he said to himself. "Their pretty noses might freeze."

By and by the flags came back, each bringing a small boy. Old Glory
looked at them.

"What's the matter?" said he; "you don't seem pleased."

No one spoke, the little boys stared with round eyes at Old Glory, but
held tightly to the flags.

At last one of the flags said: "Please, captain, these are the only
little boys we could find."

"Well!" said Old Glory.

"And we think they don't belong to Uncle Sam," was the answer.

"Why not?" said Old Glory.

"Some of them are ragged," called one flag.

"And some are dirty," said another.

"This one is a colored boy," said another.

"Some of them can't speak English at all."

"The one I found, why, he blacks boots!"

"And mine is a newsboy."

"Mine sleeps in a dry goods box."

"Mine plays a violin on the street corner."

"Just look at mine, captain!" said the last flag proudly, when the
rest were through.

"What about him?" asked Old Glory.

"I'm sure he belongs to Uncle Sam; he lives in a brown-stone house and
he wears such good clothes!"

"Of course I belong to Uncle Sam," said the brown-stone boy quickly,
"but I think these street boys do not."

"There, there!" said Old Glory; "I'll telephone to Washington and find
out," and Old Glory floated away.

The little boys watched and waited.

Back came Old Glory.

"It's all right," said he, "Uncle Sam says every one of you belongs to
him and he wants you to be brave and honest, for some day he may need
you for soldiers; oh, yes! and he said, 'Tell those poor little chaps
who have such a hard time of it and no one to help them, that Mr.
Lincoln was a poor boy too, and yet he was the grandest and best of
all my sons.'"

The moon was just rising.

It made the snow and ice shine.

"It's almost time," said Old Glory softly.

"Hark! you must not wink, nor cough nor sneeze nor move for
three-quarters of a minute!"

That was dreadful!

The newsboy