so impolite as to close the door in our faces before we had
finished our story," replied the immovable old sea captain.

"How dare you break in my door?" growled the squire.

"We shall do worse than that, squire, if you don't treat us respectfully."

"A man's house is his castle," added the squire, a little more moderately.

"That's very good law, but there isn't a house in Pinchbrook that is big
enough or strong enough to shield a traitor from the indignation of his
fellow-citizens. We do not purpose to harm you or your property, if you
behave like a reasonable man."

"You shall suffer for this outrage," gasped the squire, whose rage was
increased by the cool and civil manner of Captain Barney.

"When you closed the door in my face, I had intimated that your
fellow-citizens wish you to display the national flag."

"I refuse to do it, sir."

"Consider, squire, what you say. The people have made up their minds not
to tolerate a traitor within the corporate limits of the town of
Pinchbrook."

"I am no traitor."

"That is precisely what we wish you to demonstrate to your fellow-citizens
assembled outside to witness an exhibition of your patriotism."

"I will not do it on compulsion."

"Then, sir, we shall be obliged to resort to disagreeable measures."

"What do you mean by that, sir?" asked the squire, who was evidently
alarmed by the threat. "Do you mean to proceed to violence?"

"We do, Squire Pemberton," answered Captain Barney, decidedly.

"O my country!" sighed the victim, "has it come to this? The laws will no
longer protect her citizens."

"That's very fine, sir. Do you expect the laws to protect you while you
are aiding and abetting those who are trying to destroy them? Is there any
law to protect a traitor in his treason? But we waste time, Squire
Pemberton. Will you display the American flag?"

"Suppose I refuse?"

"We will pull your house down over your head. We will give you a coat of
tar and feathers, and remove you beyond the limits of the town. If you
ever come back, we will hang you to the nearest tree."

"Good Heaven! Is it possible that my fellow-citizens are
assassins--incendiaries!"

"Your answer, squire."

"For mercy's sake, husband, do what they ask," interposed his wife, who
had been an anxious listener in the adjoining room.

"I must do it," groaned the squire, speaking the truth almost for the
first time in forty-eight hours. "Alas! where is our boasted liberty of
speec