"While in attendance this evening, upon a meeting of gentlemen gathered for a patriotic purpose, I was told that you, Penfield Butler, had, on Saturday last, on the school-house grounds, trodden deliberately on the American flag lying in the slush of the street. Is the story true, sir?" "Well, grandfather, it was this way. I was--" "I desire, sir, a categorical reply. Did you, or did you not, stand upon the American flag?" "Yes, sir; I believe I did." "I am also credibly informed that you spoke disdainfully of this particular American flag as a mere piece of bunting? Did you use those words?" "I don't know what I said, grandfather." "Is it possible that you could have spoken thus disrespectfully of your country's flag?" "It is possible; yes, sir." "I am further informed that, on the same occasion, in language of which I have no credible report, you expressed your contempt for your country herself. Is my information correct?" "I may have done so." Pen felt himself growing weak and unsteady under this fire of questions, and he moved forward a little and grasped the back of a chair for support. The colonel, paying no heed to the boy's pitiable condition, went on with his examination. "Now, then, sir," he said, "if you have any explanation to offer you may give it." "Well, grandfather, I was very angry at the use they'd put the flag to, and I--well, I didn't just know what I was doing." Pen's voice had died away almost to a whisper. "And that," said the colonel, "is your only excuse?" "Yes, sir. Except that I didn't mean it; not any of it." "Of course you didn't mean it. If you had meant it, it would have been a crime instead of a gross offense. But the fact remains that, in the heat of passion, without forethought, without regard to your patriotic ancestry, you have wantonly defamed your country and heaped insults on her flag." Pen tried to speak, but he could not. He clung to the back of his chair and stood mute while the colonel went on: "My paternal grandfather, sir, fought valiantly in the army of General Putnam in the Revolutionary war, and my maternal grandfather was an aide to General Washington. My father helped to storm the heights of Chapultepec in 1847 under that invincible commander, General Worth. I, myself, shared the vicissitudes of the Army of the Potomac, through three years of the civil war. And now it has come to this, that my grandson has trodden under his feet the flag for which his gallant ancestors fought, and has defamed the country for which they shed their blood." The colonel's voice had risen as he went on, until now, vibrant with emotion, it echoed through the room. He rose from his chair and began pacing up and down the library floor. Still Pen stood mute. Even if he had had the voice to speak there was nothing more that he could say. It seemed to him that it was hours that his grandfather paced the floor, and it was a relief to have him stop and speak again, no matter what he should say.