And he started off on a run. This was the cut direct. There was no mistaking it. It sent a new fear to Pen's heart. It served to explain why his schoolfellows had not been to see him and sympathize with him. He had not before fully considered what effect his conduct of the previous Saturday might have upon those who had been his best friends. But Elmer's action was suspiciously expressive. It was more than that, it was ominous and forbidding. Pen trudged on alone. A group of a half dozen boys who had heretofore recognized him as their leader, turned a corner into Main street, and went down on the other side. He did not call to them, nor did they pay any attention to him, except that, once or twice, some of them looked back, apparently to see whether he was approaching them. But his ears burned. He knew they were discussing his fault. In the school-house yard another group of boys was gathered. They were so earnestly engaged in conversation that they did not notice Pen's approach until he was nearly on them. Then one of them gave a low whistle and instantly the talking ceased. "Hello, fellows!" Pen made his voice and manner as natural and easy as determined effort could make them. Two or three of them answered "Hello!" in an indifferent way; otherwise none of them spoke to him. If the battle of Chestnut Hill had ended when the enemy had been driven into the school-house, and if the conquering troops had then gone home proclaiming their victory, these same boys who were now treating him with such cold indifference, would have been flinging their arms about his shoulders this morning, and proclaiming him to the world as a hero; and Pen knew it. With flushed face and sinking heart he turned away and entered the school-house. Aleck Sands was already there, sitting back in a corner, surrounded by sympathizing friends. He still bore marks of the fray. As Pen came in some one in the group said: "Here he comes now." Another one added: "Hasn't he got the nerve though, to show himself after what he done to the flag?" And a third one, not to be outdone, declared: "Aw! He's a reg'lar Benedic' Arnold." Pen heard it all, as they had intended he should. He stopped in the aisle and faced them. The grief and despair that he had felt outside when his own comrades had ignored him, gave place now to a sudden blazing up of the old wrath. He did not raise his voice; but every word he spoke was alive with anger. "You cowardly puppies! You talk about the flag! The only flag you're fit to live under is the black flag, with skull and cross-bones on it." Then he turned on his heel and marched up the aisle to where Miss Grey was seated at her desk. He took Colonel Butler's letter from his pocket and handed it to her. "My grandfather," he said, "wishes me to give you this letter." She looked up at him with a grieved and troubled face. "Oh, Pen!" she exclaimed, despairingly, "what have you done, and why did you do it?"