“Haste tha home, young lad. Keep within tha doors for a spell o’ days till things settle a bit. If it please tha, I’ll see tha to tha door!” “Thank you, Humphrey Trail, I have no fear of being on the streets. I can go my way quite well alone. I cannot promise you to stay within doors but, though I shall always shout for my king, I will not forget your advice entirely.” Lisle held out his hand and the farmer shook it again warmly, saying: “Good-by to thee, lad.” He watched Lisle as he walked on down the narrow street and he muttered to himself, “Th’ lad, th’ proud, odd lad!” Toward the end of the narrow lanelike street Lisle paused, hesitated, turned back a step or two, paused again, and then went straight on without looking back. Humphrey noticed the action. The boy had something he wanted to say to him. “Th’ lad would ask a favor o’ me but his pride put it by him. He wants a friend and there maybe is no one else.” As this thought came to him, Humphrey Trail threw the cape of his coat about his shoulder and walked rapidly in the direction Lisle had taken. He never lost sight of him. Lisle walked straight ahead and did not once look back. He had lost his velvet cap in the affair of the cart and he walked on hatless, unafraid, his hair, a sweep of blazing gold, tied at the back of his neck with a flaring black bow. Humphrey’s heart almost failed him as he watched Lisle. It was well indeed for the boy that this tenth of August was not a day for any one person. It was a day of great issues and the time had not yet come for individuals! It was a day of wild excitement, of gallantry and courage! Humphrey Trail had spoken rightly when he had said that it would be the bravest and the best day of all. Those who guarded the Royal family in the Tuileries had fought like the chivalrous knights that they were. There were never more valorous soldiers than the red-coated Swiss guards who held their places for the king until they could no longer stand. On the other side, there were never cleaner, braver men than those gay, unfearing men of the Marseillais battalion, who had marched for weeks, through every kind of weather, to fight for liberty in Paris, and who died singing their beloved Marseillaise with their last breath, “L’amour sacrée de la patrie!” Lisle reached his home in safety and, turning in at the iron gates, ran up the marble steps and pulled a silk rope at the side of the grilled iron door. He heard the bell clang through the great house. The door was opened at once by Henri, who gazed at him with a white face and gasped out: “Monsieur Lisle, Madame, your mother, is beside herself in fear for you!” When Humphrey saw the great doors close after Lisle he turned and walked rapidly away. He knew where the lad lived and he would not forget the house. Lisle was met at the door of the first salon by his mother, who caught him by both shoulders, raising a pale, frightened face to his.