Colonel Butler left his place at the fire-side and crossed over to the table where Pen sat, in order that he might look directly down on him.
"Am I to understand," he said, "that the colors of my country have been wantonly trailed in the mire of the street?"
Under the intensity of that look, and the trembling severity of that voice, Pen wilted and shrank into the depths of his cushioned chair. He could only gasp:
"I'm afraid so, grandfather."
After that, for a full minute, there was silence in the room. When the colonel again spoke his voice was low and tremulous. It was evident that his patriotic nature had been deeply stirred.
"In what manner," he asked, "was the flag rescued and restored to its proper place?"
And Pen answered truthfully:
"I don't know. I came away."
The boy was still sunk deep in his chair, his hands were desperately clutching the arms of it, and on his pale face the wounds and bruises stood out startlingly distinct.
In the colonel's breast grief and indignation were rapidly giving way to wrath.