“You will bring the company to attention,” he said, “and do honor to the colors.” Two men came from the Barriscale offices with the flag, and ran the ends of the halyards through the rings. The company was brought to “attention,” and then to “present arms,” while the colors mounted the staff. As the banner rose, as it gave itself to the fresh morning air, as it rolled itself out against the strong but gentle wind, as it flashed back its glorious colors in the splendid sunlight, something gripped Lieutenant McCormack’s heart. Perhaps it was a spirit of patriotism that, heretofore lying dormant, now rose from the tragic struggle that was going on in his own soul. He remembered that his father had served under this flag, that his father’s father had fought for it, that hundreds of thousands of men, on battle-fields, in fever camps, in prison pens, on the decks of sinking ships, had died that it might wave; that millions of hearts to-day beat faster as eyes dim with patriotic sentiment looked up at it--why? Mistakes had been made under it indeed, political crimes had been committed in its name; graft, greed, unholy ambitions had flourished in its shelter, while the deserving poor by thousands had toiled and sweat in the shadow of it, and found no rest. And yet--and yet, until that far-off day shall come when the hearts of all men shall be purged of selfishness and sin, what nobler flag, what symbol of a better government, more free from tyranny, more blest with liberty, more rich with opportunity, floats anywhere in all the world? Day by day, year by year, rising out of turmoil and tribulation and the constant struggle for better things, to ever higher and broader planes of life and levels of true democracy, what other people on earth have a greater right or a richer incentive to love the one flag that protects their homes and thrills their hearts, than the people of the United States of America? The colors were at the top of the staff, the halyards were fastened to the clamps, the company was brought to an “order arms,” and again to a rest at will, and the period of waiting was resumed. But Lieutenant McCormack’s eyes were still fixed on the flag. Somehow, suddenly, there was a fascination in the sight of it that he could not resist; his country’s flag, the flag of his ancestors, the symbol of the soul of America; America, his home. That strange grip on his heart grew tighter, firmer, deeper--was it pain, was it sweetness, was it one of that trio of highest and noblest sentiments that stir humanity, love of one’s own country as distinct from every other country in the world, that caused his eyes to fill with tears as he stood with raised head and gazed on the “Banner of the Stars”? He was suddenly aware that some one was standing at his side, and when he looked down he saw that it was General Chick. The boy, too, was staring at the colors. “Ain’t it beautiful?” he asked.