on, as he stood before her when she closed
the door. He gazed at her piteously, a wreck of a man, storm-battered
and haggard. His big hands were shaking with a palsy of terrible grief.
His moon face was inanimate, and vagrant emotions from his heart flicked
across his features in quivers of anguish. His thin hair was tousled and
his clothes were soiled and disheveled.

"I thought you ought to know, Laura--at once," he said, after she had
closed the white door behind her and sat numb and dumb before him. "Nate
and Henry and I got there about four o'clock. Well, there they were--by
the big elm tree--on the golf course. His father was there and he told
me coming back that when they wanted Grant to do anything--they would
string up Amos--poor old Amos! They made Grant stoop over and kiss the
flag, while they kicked him; and they made him pull that machine gun
around the lake. The fools brought it up from the camp in South Harvey."
Brotherton's face quivered, but his tears were gone. He continued: "They
strung poor old Amos up four times, Laura--four times, he says."
Brotherton looked wearily into the street. "Well, as we came down the
hill in our car, we could see Grant. He was nearly naked--about as he is
now. We came tearing down the hill, our siren screaming and Nate and me
yelling and waving our guns. At the first scream of our siren, there was
an awful roar and a flash. Some one," Brotherton paused and turned his
haggard eyes toward Laura--"it was deaf John Kollander, he turned the
lever and fired that machine gun. Oh, Laura, God, it was awful. I saw
Grant wilt down. I saw--"

The man broke into tears, but bit his lips and continued: "Oh, they ran
like snakes then--like snakes--like snakes, and we came crashing down to
the tree and in a moment the last machine had piked--but I know 'em,
every man-jack!" he cried. "There was the old man, tied hand and foot,
three yards from the tree, and there, half leaning, half sitting by the
tree, the boy, the big, red-headed, broken and crippled boy--was panting
his life out." Brotherton caught her inquiring eyes. "It was all gone,
Laura," he said softly, "all gone. He was the boy, the shy, gentle boy
that we used to know--and always have loved. All this other that the
years have brought was wiped from his eyes. They were so tender and--"
He could go no further. She nodded her understanding. He finally
continued: "The first thing he said to me was, 'It's all right, George.'
He was