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!