When they resumed their seats, there returned upon the group the touch of ceremonial quiet and earnestness which the entrance of the newcomers had for the moment dispelled.
Mr. Gordon took a chair behind Mrs. Harding and explained to her and Danny in a low tone that the session was nearly over. Judge Sledge had been compelled to convene the court earlier than the appointed hour.
The other men were talking apart. Presently, one of them turned to the Scout Master and said:
"Following what you have just related, Mr. Gordon – do you think that it was quite wise in your patrol leader to send out a mere tenderfoot on a really dangerous commission?"
Mr. Gordon was about to reply, when McKenzie stepped forward and saluted. "May I answer that?" he asked.
The court assented, and all turned to hear.
"Our private advices had been," began McKenzie, with his Indianlike figure drawn up to its full height, "that it was Camelback Mountain which was under suspicion. We located our camp on a parallel range, and miles from the suspected vicinity. Mr. Gordon and I and several of the older boys were later to take in hand the serious work of Camelback, but we thought it well to give the others a little experience. I had not intended to employ the tenderfoot till I overheard the boys teasing him. I sent him to the Death Head to redeem himself in his own eyes and in theirs."
"Please, may I speak?" Biddie Burton had come forward eagerly.
With the permission of the judge, Biddie hurried on:
"Without letting the other boys know, McKenzie told me to follow Danny in case his courage should give out completely. But he gave me my orders to keep well in the rear. He wanted Dan to go to the haunted tree by himself, if he would – to win his spurs, you see."
"Did you follow Harding all the way?" someone interrupted.
"All the way to the haunted tree? Yes, sir, and he did go! He went right up to it and circled all about it. Then the earth seemed to open and swallow him up. I looked and looked for him. Then I ran back for help. I found McKenzie and Mr. Gordon, and we all three started out after Dan. You have heard the rest."
This seemed satisfactory, and the judge turned to Danny.
"Come here, Daniel," he said, "and tell the court now how you captured your wireless operator."
Danny started.
"I didn't do it, sir," he said in embarrassment. "Mr. Gordon and Willard McKenzie captured the man. I only showed them where he was."
The men exchanged glances.
"Well," said the judge, again, "come here and tell us what you did do."
Danny came forward.
"Salute!" he heard Biddie whisper.
Danny saluted.
"Now," said the judge, "tell these gentlemen here what – what you told your mother when you got back from the mountains last night."
Danny looked at his mother. Her eyes were misty again, but she was nodding to him to do as the judge directed.
The tenderfoot stood embarrassed before them and told the story exactly as he had related it to his mother. He didn't like to do this, for he was very much ashamed of having to tell how frightened he had been, and how he had had to force himself to go forward.
The men listened intently. Once in a while one would interrupt to ask a question.
When Danny got to the point in his story of his acceptance of McKenzie's commission to cover old Death Head, a dark-eyed, quiet man on the judge's right leaned forward.
"One moment, Harding," he said. "McKenzie told us before you entered that you were afraid to go when the boys dared you, but that when he told you to go on the scouting trip, you said, 'this is different.' What did you mean by its being 'different'?"
Danny looked up from his nervous fingering of the judge's paper-weight.
"I meant that it was for my country," he answered simply.
The dark-eyed man glanced at the others.
"Beat that," he said in a low tone to them.
Judge Sledge took down his spectacles from his bald head, adjusted them on his nose, and looked hard at the boy.
"Proceed," he commanded, after a moment.
Danny proceeded.
"Weren't you afraid to crawl into that cave?" one of them asked in the course of the story.
"Yes, sir," said Danny.
Later, another interrupted with:
"But if your arm was broken and paining you, why didn't you stay with Burton, there, and let the others go by the way of Death Head, and take up the clue you had followed?"
"Why, you see," answered Danny, "we had to get to the man quickly to stop his telegraphing. I knew a short route to him."
"Exactly," said the judge, nodding, then he turned to the men about him.
"All right, gentlemen?" he asked.
There was a whispered conference of a few moments, and then, to Danny's surprise, they all turned to him.
"Daniel," said the judge, "do you know why this Court of Honor has been called into session?"
Danny's glance swept the khaki-clad figures against the wall – he looked at Mr. Gordon.
"I hope," he answered to the judge, "that you like what we did."
"Yes," said the judge, smiling this time, "yes, the Whippoorwills are quite in our good graces, and we commend the promptness and efficiency of Mr. Gordon and your leader, McKenzie. However, this court has been called together to sit in judgment on your part in last night's performance. Daniel, do you realize that you have done bravely and well?"
Danny stood for one moment, stunned by the dawning realization of what this meant. Then he looked across at his mother. Life holds for a boy no higher, happier moment than that in which he realizes he has made his mother proud of him.
Without waiting for him to reply, the judge was continuing:
"This court finds, Danny, that in spite of very human, very natural fears, and at the cost of suffering to yourself, you performed a service to your country which may be more far-reaching than any of us dream. And if there is anything braver than the conquering of fear, anything more manly than the voluntary endurance of pain for a high cause, or any earthly motive of action higher than one's duty to one's country, we have never found it.
"Now, Son, it is not within the power of this, our local court, to confer upon you what we think you deserve. It is ours, however, to recommend to the Boy Scout National Court of Honor that you be awarded the Honor Medal. This we are going to do because we believe you have saved more than life by your prompt action, and we know that you did it at the cost of suffering to yourself and at the risk of your own life."
*****
When, a few weeks later, the Honor Medal did arrive and was pinned upon Danny's breast, the young scout found it necessary to take his little mother in hand.
"'If you cry like a baby,'" he whispered laughingly but with his arms about her, "'I'll disown you!'"
UNDER THE FLAG
"Louise!"
The little girl came to a halt suddenly and nearly dropped her book-satchel. Somebody had called her name – some startling, mysterious voice had called her!
She looked hurriedly about, but there was nobody in sight – nobody but a saucy squirrel perched upon a park bench, and a redbird flitting along the open between the enclosing hawthorns.
Which one had called?
"Louise!"
The little girl started back, too frightened to scream – it was the hawthorn!
But the next moment a boyish bullet-head appeared between parted boughs.
"Come here!" exclaimed its owner in suppressed excitement. "We've got something to tell you!"
Down went the book-satchel, but not in fear this time. Billy Hastings had called – called excitedly – and Billy was known to furnish nearly all the third-grade thrills there were. So the next moment Louise was stooping her way under the hawthorn boughs in answer to her playfellow's summons.
Billy was not alone in the green grotto in which Louise presently found herself, for nearly half the third-grade members were there. There was wide-eyed Tinsie Willis, with her little frilly skirts bristling with excitement, with Mamie Moore swallowing to keep back hysterical tears, and Sadie and Lallie Raiford, with their backs to each other for safe-keeping. And there were boys, a whole mob of boys!
The children were huddled together in suppressed excitement, and were whispering all at the same time. It was plain that something terrible, something menacing, had happened.
"You know that new boy that came to school this morning – ?" began one.
"That 'Rudolph Kreisler'?" put in another.
"Sh-h-h!" interrupted a third wildly.
But Billy Hastings thrust his red, round face close to Louise's and announced in a blood-curdling whisper:
"Rudolph Kreisler is a German spy!"
Louise's legs crumpled under her, and she sat down in a heap.
Again they were all talking at the same time, and this time at her.
"He's got his trousers' pockets just full of something!" exclaimed Pete Laslie.
"And he's watching, watching!" put in another. "Didn't you see him sitting off there by himself looking at us while we played ball?"
"Spying!" hissed Luke Musgrove over Billy Hastings's shoulder.
The children started and looked about apprehensively. Luke's words always carried weight by reason of the fact that he had been two years in the third grade and ought to know what he was talking about if he didn't.
"Yes," chimed in Billy, coming close to Louise again and speaking in his most dramatic tone. "Just you dare to draw a deep breath, and he'll tell the Kaiser on you!"
Louise gasped – a short, a curtailed little gasp. Never till the Great War should be over would she breathe from her diaphragm again!
"Oh-o-o-o, Louise!" from round-eyed Tinsie Willis.
"What?"
"You've left your book-satchel out there in the path! Just suppose he were to come by and see it!"
There was a moment of consternation, of wild chattering, in which everybody poked his head out to see, but nobody would venture far enough to get the incriminating satchel.
Then Tommie Warren had an inspiration. Snatching a crooked-handle umbrella from Ella Vaiden, he flung himself flat on the grass and reached for the tell-tale satchel with the crook.
"It's a good thing Ella brought that umbrella!" exclaimed Tinsie. And all looked at Ella, who stood up very straight in spite of the low-dipping boughs. The next moment Louise had her beloved book-satchel hugged close to her pounding heart.
"Sh-h-h!" suddenly came from a self-constituted sentinel.
"What?"
"He's coming!"
The crowd in the bushes stood tiptoe and breathless as the German spy came down the hawthorn path.
He was a small lad – small for the third grade – with big blue eyes and a shock of tawny hair. The Kaiser had not equipped him very well, for there was a suggestion of poverty about his mended clothes. But, after all, maybe those carefully darned places at his knees were only a part of an adroit disguise. His pockets were bulging, and with knotty-looking somethings very suggestive of poorly concealed bombs. He was not whistling, as a perfectly good American would have been, but walked slowly and with his head down. It was very suspicious!
He passed.
"Let's get him now!" suggested Luke.
"Good!" exclaimed Billy. "Get some rocks!" And instantly all was excitement, the uncensored noise of which reached the little German and caused him to take to his heels.
In the confusion of the next few moments Louise scarcely realized what they were about. But when they tore out of the bushes, snatching up rocks as they went, and rushed after their flying prey, her heart stood still. He was such a little boy!
With the back of her hand pressed tight against the sobs that would not be stifled, and with tears raining down her cheeks, the little girl followed in the wake of the howling mob.
Then somebody rounded a hawthorn bush and came bang up against her. It was Jimmie Fisher, a big, red-headed rock of strength, who could carry lightly the heaviest book-satchels there were.
"What are you crying about?" he asked, after his first quick survey of her.
"They – they are killing Rudolph Kreisler!" sobbed Louise.
"No," assured Jimmie, "he'll get home free. He lives just across there. Are these your books?"
*****
The next day matters only grew worse.
The whole atmosphere of the third grade had become electric with suspicion of a certain little boy who, looking neither to right nor to left, kept his wistful blue eyes bent on the task before him. When Rudolph stood up at the singing of the Star-Spangled Banner, Luke growled out that he was "just pretending." And when, from his seat near the door, the German lad answered the knock of a visitor, Ella Vaiden whispered audibly:
"See that? He wants to see who's there!"
In recitation Rudolph answered the questions put to him with despicable German efficiency, but Luke missed with conspicuous patriotism and went noisily foot.
But through it all Louise was doing her own thinking. She was a loyal little citizen and loved her country with all her heart; but there flowed through her veins the blood of a long line of Americans who had been just and fair. The little girl was afraid of German spies – afraid for her country – and Rudolph Kreisler's pockets did bulge ominously. If Rudolph Kreisler was a German spy, why he would have to be dealt with, of course.
But if he wasn't – ?
Louise wished with all her heart that Miss Barclay, the teacher, would suspect this terrible smothered tragedy that was being enacted within her class. Of course one's teacher, like one's mother, could solve every problem; and Miss Barclay in particular could command the storms of childhood to be still. If only Miss Barclay knew!
But in third-grade ethics it was "dishonorable" to "tattle," so Louise was compelled to hold her peace and think fast. There were recesses ahead in which covertly cruel things might happen, and an after-school walk through a lonely park from which a real little boy might not get home free. Something must be done.
At first recess the boys and girls were, as usual, separated in their play, but Louise – observing from afar – saw that the little German sat by himself on the steps, and watched the spirited ball-play of the others with keen alertness. Yes, it was very suspicious.
Big recess brought with it an unusual privilege that day. The third-grade boys and girls were to be allowed to mingle together and on the front lawn, in order to keep them from under the feet of certain workmen who were making excavations through the school-grounds.
This was all very thrilling, for it was from a tall staff on the front lawn that their beautiful new flag was floating, and to-day they would be able to see it close – to touch the pole with their very hands! Then, too, it would be so remarkable to play with boys.
Louise pondered it all as the third-grade girls filed down to their lunch-room. Rudolph Kreisler was not there, of course, but Rudolph would be with them among the other boys at play-time. She would then be able to watch him narrowly – to keep an eye on those bulging pockets.
All the other girls were chattering over their lunch, but Louise drank her milk and ate her sandwich in thoughtful silence.
Presently a hand was laid upon her heavy curls and she looked up with a start. The principal was smiling down at her.
"What are you thinking of, little tragedy queen?" he asked.
Louise blushed and tried vainly to reply.
The teacher serving the sandwiches answered the principal.
"Of 'the impossibility of all things,'" she said with a curious sidewise smile.
The principal put his hand under Louise's chin and, tilting her head back, looked deep into her eyes.
"You must run and play a great deal," he said, and passed on.
Then, when the last sandwich had gone the way of all good sandwiches, they repaired to the front lawn.
It was all so wonderful – so green and cool and stately-looking. And there, sure enough, was the great new flag, curling and uncurling in the fitful wind – 'way up against the sky!
The boys were already out on the green when the little girls were marched down the steps and disbanded among them to enjoy the most unusual privilege of joining in their games. Then, all suddenly a great awkwardness came down upon the girls. How was one to play with boys at recess? Of course after school it came natural enough to mingle with them, but this was not "after school"! It was most embarrassing.
Louise found herself timid in the chaperoned recess-presence of Jimmie and Billy and Luke, and began to back away toward the steps.
"Look out!" shouted Billy suddenly.
Louise jumped to "look out." Behind her, on the bottom step, sat the German spy. She had nearly backed into him!
In the face of danger, embarrassment dropped away. The next moment Louise had fled back to her countrymen and was listening, excited, to their eager whispers.
"Rudolph Kreisler sits by himself – always by himself. Isn't that funny?"
"Just look at him now!"
"See him watching the flag?"
"Get that gleam in his eye? Look, quick!"
"Old rascal! He got home free yesterday – but just you wait!"
And so they stood apart from him and whispered.
The German spy dug his toes in the sand a little longer, then rose and moved a few steps farther up.
Then Ella Vaiden declared that they were wasting time, and proposed that they begin a game.
But nobody knew what to play.
"I'll tell you!" exclaimed Louise. "Let's play 'Under the Flag.'"
"What's that?" asked several.
"Why – why – " began Louise, inventing the game as she proceeded, "it's this way: you go stand under the flag and look up at it till the wind blows it out straight – and – and then you make a wish. If the flag floats wide till you have finished, your wish will come true."
All were interested at once, and the game began. The fitful, boisterous wind took an active part and the play became spirited.
Tinsie Willis was the first to come "under the flag," but she was so excited she forgot to wish till the broadly floating banner had wrapped itself about its staff and her opportunity was gone.
Then everybody began talking at once, and Mamie Moore piped up: "I'm going to wish for a pair of shiny-bug slippers!"
Louise was shocked, and quickly explained that when one wished under the flag it must be for something serious and from the very depths of one's heart.
"Sure," supported Jimmie of the red head. "You can wish for shiny-bug slippers under an umbrella!"
But Mamie couldn't then think of anything more serious than the need of gilt slippers, and was promptly ruled out till her imagination should come to her assistance.
Several boys took turns next, but they were so noisy and boisterous that they came near spoiling everything.
Then Flora Archer took her place. Flora was a thoughtful little girl who carried around in her eyes a deep, deep something people never understood. With her lips close to the flagpole, she whispered her message to it, and all the while the beautiful banner streamed out to its farthest length.
Flora came back without speaking, and the children looked at her in curious silence. But when the others were noisily choosing times again, Flora slipped her hand into Louise's and whispered:
"I wished for our soldiers to win in the war, but for them not to be cruel when they do."
"Yours, Louise!" exclaimed somebody.
And before Louise had time to examine the depths of her heart to see what it was she most desired, a half-dozen pair of friendly hands pushed her forward. It was no time to hold back – to spoil the game. Louise mounted the green knoll from which the great flagpole rose.
But she did not at once look up. Her glance had accidentally lighted on the lonely figure on the steps, and was resting there for a moment in startled contemplation.
He was such a little boy, and he seemed so – apart! But one must make no mistakes where one's country was involved. Were his blue eyes "gleaming" with vengeful purpose? Or were they only full – of shining tears?