"May I speak to Billy Hastings on business?"
The substitute was writing something and assented without looking up.
Louise could not help hearing the hoarsely whispered "business."
"Connie Tipton," said Luke to Billy, "says that that German spy has
been hiding in the basement but has slipped up-stairs--" The hoarse
whisper dropped lower at this point and Louise could not catch the
words which followed. She guessed darkly, however, and clung to her
desk tighter and tighter.
At that fateful moment the substitute looked up and said:
"Children, the others have all gone, and it looks like rain again, so
I am going to dismiss you. File out quietly--I don't wish to have to
call you back."
She did not rise from her seat to marshal them out, taking care that
the last one of them was out of sight of the schoolhouse before he
slackened his pace. She merely dropped her eyes to her writing again
and left them practically to their own devices.
The boys marched through the cloaking-room first, and they were
ominously quiet about it.
Then the little girls rose and filed out. Louise led the girls' line,
but though she followed swiftly in the wake of the boys, they had
disappeared off the face of the earth when she reached the
cloaking-room door which opened into the hall.
They had slipped off to hunt for Rudolph Kreisler, and Louise knew it.
She hoped that Rudolph had left the building, but she was not sure.
Something must be done--but _what_?
Just then she caught from above the sound of tiptoeing and whispering.
It was dishonorable to "tattle," but it wasn't dishonorable to fly
after a set of lawless boys and keep them from abusing an innocent
would-be American. Louise deserted the head of her line and darted up
the long stairs.
It was like a frightful nightmare--the stealthy, breathless chase
which followed. She could not stop the boys in their mad search, could
not command their attention a moment to explain. In and out they
darted--fourth-grade, fifth-grade, sixth-grade, seventh! Every crack
and cranny, every cloaking-room and teacher's desk was made to prove
its innocence of sheltering the fugitive spy. The scampering boys were
just finishing their search of the seventh grade when Louise found
herself at the foot of the garret steps.
She stopped and surveyed their boxed-up secretiveness. What if Rudolph
had gone up there?
From the sounds of disappointment now issuing from the seventh grade
she knew that the last schoolroom to be searched had not yielded up
the quarry. Yes, Rudolph must be in the garret, and of course the boys
would pursue him there!
Then a sudden idea came to her. If she could but reach Rudolph first
she might help him to climb out of the garret window.
Up the dark steps she flew, but, alas! there were flying feet to
follow! The others had seen, and were coming after.
They caught up with her before she reached the top, and she and they
burst into the long garret room together.
It was big with mystery--that long garret place--and weirdly
frightening with its half-lights and whole shadows. For one moment the
children stood at pause before its awesome silence.
No German spy was in sight.
Then the boys began searching hurriedly, and after a quick glance
about the open and lighter space before them, went pushing their quest
farther and farther into the distant dark of the wings and gables.
Louise stood where they had left her, with the feeling that _the end
of all things_ was at hand, and that there was no use to struggle
further. Presently her mist-dimmed eyes were attracted to a pile of
something over at a small window near where she stood. The janitor had
thrown their beautiful flag across an old couch without taking the
trouble to roll it properly.
The indignant little girl started toward the couch to straighten out
and roll the flag when her ear caught a sound which caused her to
pause a moment in dim speculation. There was a step below, a firm, a
familiar step--but no, she must be mistaken!
She slipped over to the couch, but the next moment drew back and
clapped her hand over her mouth to repress a startled scream. A little
yellow-haired boy lay asleep upon the couch, with the big flag nearly
covering him!
Louise leaned over him. Two shining drops still lay on his cheek. He
had sobbed himself to sleep--he was such a _little_ boy!
[Illustration: "You can't touch Rudolph!" she tried. "He's under the
flag!"]
A drift of damp air floated in from the window, and the sleeper
shivered and moved as if to cuddle further under his shelter. Louise
very gently drew the bunting folds closer about his neck. Somehow she
_knew_ that this was not desecration.
That steady step from below again and--nearer!
But just at that moment the boys came noisily back from the distant
wings and gables.
"Hello, Louise! What are you doing there?" Luke Musgrove called.
Louise started up. She was between them and the sleeping boy, but she
could not screen him from their astonished eyes.
"Gee, but there he is!" exclaimed Billy. "Let's----"
But the spirit of a long line of just and fair Americans was facing
them. Louise Carey was descended from ancestors who had bought freedom
and fair play with their blood, so in that hour--when she faced the
unthinking lawless--there was a something in her eyes which brought
them to a stand before her.
"You can't touch Rudolph!" she cried. "He's under the flag!"
A quiet fell upon them. They looked first at the sacred, sheltering
flag of their country, and then at each other. And while they yet
paused in awe there came to them the sound of a steady, familiar step
on the garret stair. The next moment the door opened and there entered
Miss Barclay--the teacher who, by her wisdom and her justice, could
always command to stillness the tempests of their childish hearts.
AMERICA FIRST
Little Riego Yanez was a native of Mexico--of that unhappy part of
Mexico which is constantly plundered by revolutionary bands who spend
their time in fighting, and who win their supplies by robbing the more
stable people of the republic.
Riego's father, Antonio Yanez, had suffered many times at the hands of
the revolutionists. He was a saddler by trade, and also a small
farmer, so the products of his industry were just what the warring
bandits needed. But the warring bandits did not pay for what they
needed. They merely took, and rode away!
So Antonio decided on a desperate step--he would emigrate to America.
But Riego's mother objected to removing to America. Mexico was rife
with hatred and distrust of the "gringos," and many and dark were the
stories told of the country north of the Great North River. Besides,
Riego's elder brother, Pascual, an unruly lad of fifteen, was very
bitterly opposed to the change.
So it was at length decided that Antonio should dare alone the dangers
and hardships of America. If all was as the revolutionists said, he
could escape back to Chihuahua. If, by happy chance, he should prosper
in the new country, he would send for wife and children.
A year passed. The father's letters--few and short, for he had had
little schooling--were chiefly concerned with begging them to come and
see for themselves.
Then, one never-to-be-forgotten day, the mother and children packed
into a hired wagon the tragic little which the bandits had left them,
and set their faces toward the Rio Grande. They, too, were bound for
that distrusted country which lay north of the northern edge of their
world. The mother and the two girls were hopeful, but Pascual was
silent and Riego afraid.
Not till the night came down did they reach the dark river which was
to flow forever between the old life and the new. To little
ten-year-old Riego this all-pervading darkness meant "America," for to
his drowsy brain and anxious heart the black clouds above and the
darkly rolling waters below seemed to typify the spirit of the land
into which he was crossing.
Another moment, however, and he had given up the struggle to think it
all out and fallen asleep with his head on his mother's lap.
The next morning Riego waked up in a better land.
He sat up on his cot and blinked his black eyes and stared about him
at the cosey little room. A flood of light poured in at the one tiny
window--Then the sun _did_ shine in this land of the gringos!
This was very interesting. Riego hurried into his clothes and started
out to see America.
His route of exploration led through a cheery kitchen, where he found
his two sisters busy cooking breakfast, and smiling and chatting at
their work. But Riego had no time to stop and question, for the green
things in the little garden beyond were beckoning to him.
In another minute he was out among them. It was very green--this
"America"--very green and very sunny, with rows upon rows of the most
wonderful vegetables running out to meet the morning sun!
Soon Riego glimpsed his father and mother beyond a dividing fence at
the side, and he ran at once to his father's arms. After the first
long embrace Riego drew back, the better to see the father who had
dared America alone for his children's sake.
Why--his brow was smoother than Riego remembered!--his eyes
clearer!--Did one grow younger, happier, in America?
And now Riego's mother was calling his attention to the snow-white
chickens which fluttered about them. There was a cow, too, Riego
learned--a cow and a pony and pigs and pigeons--and _all theirs_!
Riego shouted for joy. But the next moment the joy died upon his lips,
and he asked:
"The revolutionists, father? How long will they let us have these?"
"Riego," said his father, "there are no revolutionists in America.
Here, if a man works, he receives a just reward, and he is allowed to
keep in peace what he earns. Our only danger is from across the
border."
Then Riego's mother told him that his father had a fine saddle-shop
which the Americans never raided.
It was all very, very wonderful!--A man was paid well for working, and
could keep in peace what he earned!--Was this what was meant by
"_America_"?
Riego's father's saddle-shop was the front room of their little
dwelling, and opened immediately upon a small street in the Mexican
quarter of the village. It was a very interesting place, indeed, for
the wide door and the hospitable bench just inside invited in many an
entertaining visitor, besides the men who came to buy saddles or to
have their harness repaired.
One of these visitors, Alonzo Lorente, was particularly interesting
to Riego and his brother, though their father always became moodily
quiet when the man came. Lorente was a big, dashing fellow, full of
strange oaths and of dark insinuations. And somehow, whenever he
entered, the air of the shop became electric with an indefinable
excitement.
It did not take Riego long to see that, at such times, his father
managed to keep him and Pascual so busy that they missed most of their
hero's inspiriting talk. Riego was particularly unfortunate in this
respect. He spent little of his time in the shop where his father and
Pascual plied the saddler's trade, for it was his duty to help in the
market-garden.
This deprivation of Lorente's society, however, had its compensations.
It was Riego's especial work to peddle their vegetables at the khaki
tents of the gringo soldiers a few miles away, and this was very
entertaining and exciting in itself, for the soldiers were jolly and
kind and said nice things to one.
And then, one rainy Saturday afternoon, when the peddling was all
done, Riego sat in his father's shop and listened to Alonzo Lorente.
And Alonzo Lorente startled him awake with the news that all was not
well with the land of America. He spoke darkly of "gringos" and of
"vengeance."
Pascual, Riego noticed, crept closer and closer to the big man, till
his fingers forgot the leather they should have been stretching.
It was then that the unexpected happened. The father, usually so quiet
and so busy, suddenly rose from his work-bench and came forward.
"Lorente," he said, and Pascual and Riego started at the iron in his
tone, "Lorente, it is not the busy men who have quarrel with America.
It is those who have time to do--much talking!"
There was a pause and dead silence, and then Lorente the magnificent
turned on his heel with a growl and left the shop.
Then Antonio returned to his work-bench, with Riego following, but
Pascual stole to the door and gazed at the receding Lorente till his
father called him sharply to his duties.
One day the father did not open his shop at all. It was closed in
honor of the great American festival, Riego heard him explain grimly
to a follower of Lorente, who questioned. And Riego heard the follower
of Lorente laugh scornfully as he strode away.
There being no work that day, Pascual and Riego set out together to
explore the yet farther reaches of America.
But they had not gone far past the square where loomed the several
American stores when they sighted a crowd in a grove of big trees, and
heard voices shouting and hands clapping as if in great joy. A number
of gringo soldiers were roving about. Two were coming leisurely toward
them across the green.
Riego wanted to press forward to see and hear, but his brother jerked
him by the sleeve, exclaiming:
"It is the Americans' great feast-day, the Fourth of July. Come away!"
"But father says _we_ are Americans now. Why can't we go and hear what
they are saying?" Riego's voice had risen in his eagerness.
The approaching soldiers stopped and looked at him, and Riego's heart
stopped, too.
But the taller of the soldiers saluted him in fine fashion, and
addressed to him words of courteous welcome:
"Don Pedro de Alvarado-Rain-in-the-Face-Sitting-Bull, for such as thou
art is the picnic! Welcome to our city!"
Riego understood the gesture of invitation. He thanked the courtly
soldier, and walked proudly forward, followed by his brother.
It was a gay scene, but quiet now, for someone was speaking. The
starry banner of America fluttered everywhere, and smiling,
white-faced senoritas and brown-clad soldiers were gathered here and
there in listening groups. Under a tree, near the platform, sat
musicians with shining silver horns and a big drum. A number of
children were seated on the grass in front of the stand. Among them,
Riego noticed, were many dark faces like his own.
Suddenly Riego's courage gave way and he started to retreat. But a
sweet-faced senora took him by the hand and led him and Pascual to a
place where they could see everything, whispering as they went:
"It is our day of freedom."
At first the boy was dazed by the strangeness of the scene, and his
interest shifted. But the sound of a sweet, ringing voice soon
compelled his attention and he turned quickly toward the platform.
Riego caught his breath. Who was it? _What_ was it that was speaking
to him?
In the centre of the platform stood a clear-eyed, white-faced goddess,
with the flag of the new country draped around her slender form, and
the sunlight of this day of freedom beating down upon her shining
head. She was speaking, but in the difficult new tongue.
Riego could not take his eyes away, but he reached out his hand
quickly to touch Pascual.
The sweet-faced senora leaned over him.
"America," she whispered in explanation.
_America!_ Beautiful America! Riego crept forward, unconscious now of
the crowd around. Oh, to _understand_ America!
Then a strange thing happened. The beautiful goddess suddenly ceased
speaking, and her face became clouded with thought. Her eyes were
focussed on the eager boy who had crept forward and was standing
spellbound before her--the most conspicuous of the group of
dark-faced, bewildered children.
Riego did not know that everybody in that audience had suddenly leaned
forward in dead silence.
After one tense moment the Beautiful One advanced to the edge of the
platform and descended the steps till she stood almost among them.
And now this strange, new, better country was speaking to Riego _in
his own tongue_!
"You didn't _understand_ me, did you?" she asked in Spanish.
"Not _then_, my lady!--but _now_!" It was Riego who answered her, but
the other dark faces were alight like his own now. The crowd was
leaning forward again.
"Ah, that is all the trouble!" said the Beautiful One. "Our new people
simply do not understand America! Do you wish me to tell you the story
in Spanish?"
There were many who answered this time.
Then she told them in their own tongue of the great struggle for a new
freedom and a new peace which had been waged upon this soil over a
hundred years before. And the breathless children heard how this new
ideal of freedom had passed all bounds of the country in which it was
born, and thrilled all lands. They heard how the noble La Fayette of
France, Steuben of Prussia, and Kosciuszko of Poland each had offered
his all that America might be forever a refuge for the oppressed. They
learned how the German De Kalb had laid down his life at Camden for
the new faith, and how Count Pulaski had poured out the last drop of
his Polish blood to make the world's great dream of freedom "come true."
Then the Beautiful One told the children how, throughout the more than
one hundred years since the fight was won, the footsore and oppressed
of many lands have found in America work and a just reward for
working, the freedom to do anything which does not harm another, and
the great gift of peace!
"And now," exclaimed the speaker, "which of you will promise with me
to be loyal to America? Stand up!"
And they stood up--the dark children, the white-faced senoritas, the
gringo soldiers, and all!--and repeated after the Beautiful One:
"I pledge allegiance to my flag and to the republic for which it
stands,
One nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."
When Riego turned from the inspiring scene it was to see his brother
Pascual walking away, and in close conversation with Alonzo Lorente.
* * * * *
The days passed, but Riego still treasured in his heart his first
vision of America. He knew now that the Beautiful One was only a
charming senorita and daughter of the big captain who commanded at the
American camp. But he liked to think of her as "America"--the
beneficent goddess who had smoothed the furrows from his father's brow
and crowned his faithful labors with reward.
And then, one momentous day, the Beautiful One stood in the shop-door,
asking in Spanish if she might be allowed to enter. She was all in
white this time--snow-white. To Riego's fond imagination she was still
a shining goddess.
Riego's father welcomed the senorita and dusted the bench that she
might sit and rest, for Riego had told him of the great American
festival, and Antonio had learned much besides.
The senorita had come to speak to the father about his sons--and her
smiling glance included both the sullen Pascual and Riego, who stood
worshipfully by.
It seemed that the senorita--Miss Flora Arden was her name--was to
teach a class of "newly made Americans," and again her glance
included the boys. She wanted to teach them to speak the English
language and to help them to a better understanding of America. The
senorita believed that most of the trouble which the newly made
Americans encountered was due to the fact that they did not know how
to find and use the good gifts which their new country had to offer.
And she was certain that most of the trouble they _gave_ was because
they brought old prejudices with them, and so did not open their
hearts to America.
Riego understood the spirit of her proposal better than he did the
words of her correct Spanish. His father listened throughout with
thoughtful, grave attention.
There were no charges to be made for this teaching? Then what was the
senorita to gain for so much effort?
"I?" said the senorita--she was standing now, ready to depart--"I gain
a better country! My father is a soldier and serves his country by
helping to keep the peace along this troubled border. If I had been a
son I might have done as much. But I am only a daughter, Antonio! And
yet"--and she put her arm over Riego's shoulders as she spoke--"if I
help to make loyal even _one_ of America's adopted sons, am not I,
too, serving my country?"
The father's rare smile assented to her offer, even before his lips
made the promise.
Riego followed the Beautiful One to the door.
Outside, Alonzo Lorente slouched against a lamp-post. The senorita
looked into Lorente's face and recoiled slightly. Riego saw the
recoil, and an unnamed fear suddenly laid its hand upon his heart.
* * * * *
Pascual and Riego went to Miss Arden's class--Pascual sullen and
uninterested, Riego breathlessly eager. But they had not attended many
times--indeed, had just begun to glimpse something of the bigness and
goodness of their new country--when the stroke fell that was to change
their little world. The good father dropped at his work-bench,
speechless and bewildered. The American doctor said he would be able
to work again, but that his mind would never be quite the same.
Their wise father thus reduced to childishness, and their mother
ignorant of the new conditions and the new tongue, the boys were left
to plan for themselves.
Pascual left Miss Arden's class. He explained that he would now have
to take charge of his father's shop; but he found time to make many
trips across the dark Rio Grande and to talk much with Lorente, who
now resumed his old practice of dropping in at the shop to chat. His
younger brother, however, continued under the senorita's instruction.
Riego learned at Miss Arden's class that "freedom" gives one the right
to do as he wishes only in so far as he does not wish to interfere
with the rights of another.
"There is no 'freedom' except in loyal obedience to law," she told him
one day. "America is a 'free' country because--though here are
gathered people from all lands--they join together in making laws
which are kind and impartial to all, and they stand together in
support of the laws they make."
"But, senorita, Alonzo Lorente says--" began the boy, and stopped short.
"What does Alonzo Lorente say?" the senorita asked quickly.
"I--I promised not to tell," stammered the child.
There was the blue truth of heaven in the senorita's eyes as she looked
into his own, and answered: "Riego, it is more than dishonest in Lorente
to accept the blessings which America affords him and not be true to
her. It is worse than traitorous in him to help spoil the peace of the
country which is his refuge from oppression. If Alonzo Lorente likes the
old way better than the new, he should go back to the old country. If he
honestly wishes to change what he finds here, and thinks he can better
things, he has one man's just share in deciding, for he is a naturalized
citizen and can vote on any question. But Alonzo Lorente _should speak
out openly or else keep silent_!"
Before Riego left that afternoon Miss Arden had him repeat with her:
"I pledge allegiance to my flag and to the republic for which it
stands,
One nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."
But little Riego did not dream in how short a time would his loyalty
to his new country be tested. One afternoon--his father was still
lying unconscious--Riego was tending the shop alone, for Pascual had
crossed the Rio Grande in the early morning and had not yet returned.
It was a dull, dull afternoon, for no patrons came, and the visitors
merely glanced in and passed on. It was hot and still, so the sleepy
Riego decided to rest. He found a cool spot behind a pile of boxes,
and lay down and closed his eyes.
* * * * *
When Riego opened his eyes again it was with a start. There were
voices--smothered voices--some men were in the shop! Riego lay still
and listened.
"We will attack the gringo camp to-night--just before dawn," a
smothered voice was saying. "Alva has three hundred men and more. They
can easily surprise and destroy these eighty Americans, and so can
seize their horses and ammunition."
"But the patrol?" It was Pascual's voice that whispered the question.
Riego's heart turned sick. He recognized the voice of Lorente in the
terrifying reply:
"Pacheco and a picked few will knife the patrol at the ford, then
Alva's men will cross, and approach the camp up the ravine."
"To-morrow morning?" Pascual's voice asked.
"Yes, just before dawn."