From the cupola of the Mather mansion the Stars and Stripes were to be hung out, and on the morning of Tom’s expected arrival, Jimmie and Annie climbed the winding stairs and fastened the staff securely to its place. There were tears in Annie’s eyes as the graceful folds shook themselves to the breeze, for she remembered the coming of another soldier when this same banner was wrapped around a coffin. Across the valley and beyond the confines of the village she could see where that coffin with its loved inmate was buried, and as the past came rushing over her, she suddenly gave way, and sitting down beneath the flag wept bitterly, while Jimmie, with a vague idea as to what might have caused her tears, stood looking at her, wishing he could comfort her. But what should he say? As yet they had scarcely passed the bounds of the most scrupulous politeness to each other, and for him to attempt to comfort her seemed preposterous, while to leave her without a word, seemed equally unkind. Perhaps it was the beautiful glossy braids of hair which brought him at last to a decision, causing him to lay his hand involuntarily upon the bowed head, while he said: “I am sorry for you, Mrs. Graham, for I know how much the contrast between my brother’s return and that of your husband must affect you, and gladly would I spare you the pain, if I could. I am not certain but the good people of Rockland, in their intended kindness to Tom, are doing you an injury, and surely Lieutenant Graham, having been a resident of this place, should receive their first thought with all pertaining to him.” There was no mistaking the genuine sympathy which thrilled in every tone of Jimmie’s voice, and for a moment Annie wept more passionately than before. It was the first time he had ever spoken to her of her husband, and his words touched a responsive chord at once. “It is not that so much,” she answered, at last. “I am glad they are honoring your brother thus; he richly deserves it for his noble adherence to his country in her hour of peril, and for his generous treatment of poor Isaac Simms. I would do much myself to show him my respect; but oh, George, George, I am so desolate without him!” and covering her face with her hands, Annie wept again, more piteously than before. Here was a point which Jimmie could not touch, and an awkward silence ensued, broken at last by Annie, who, resuming her usual calm demeanor, frankly offered Jimmie her hand, saying: “I thank you, Mr. Carleton, for your sympathy. It has made me believe you are my friend, and as such I would rather consider you.” “Your friend! Did you ever deem me other than that?” Jimmie replied in some surprise, involuntarily pressing the little hand which only for an instant rested in his, and then was quietly withdrawn just as Rose from the foot of the stairs called out to know “what they were doing up there so long.”