"A—Penfield, may I ask in which direction the tide of battle finally turned?"
"I believe we licked 'em, grandfather," replied Pen. "We drove 'em into the school-house anyway."
"Not, I presume, before some severe preliminary fighting had taken place?"
"There you go again, father!" exclaimed Aunt Millicent. "It's nothing but 'fighting, fighting,' from morning to night. What kind of a man do you think Pen will grow up to be, with such training as this?"
"A very useful, brave and patriotic citizen, I hope, my dear."
"Fiddlesticks!" It was Aunt Millicent's favorite ejaculation. But the colonel did not refer to the battle again at the table. It was not until after he had retired to the library, and had taken up his favorite position, his back to the fire, his eyes resting on the silken banner in the hall, that he plied Pen with further questions. His daughter not being in the room he felt that he might safely resume the subject of the fight.
"I would like a full report of the battle, Penfield," he said. "It appears to me that it is likely to go down as a most important event in the history of the school."
Pen shook his head deprecatingly, but he did not at once reply. Impatient at the delay, which he ascribed to the modesty characteristic of the brave and successful soldier, the colonel began to make more definite inquiry.
"In what manner was the engagement opened, Penfield?"
And Pen replied: