request.”

“What is it?” demanded the squire.

“That you hoist the Stars and Stripes on your house.”

“I won’t do it!” roared the victim, as he slammed the door in the faces of the committee.

“That is insolence,” said Captain Barney, quietly. “We will go in.”

The captain led the way; but the door had been locked upon them. The shoulders of three stout men pressed against it, and the bolt yielded.

“What do you mean, you villains?” thundered the squire, as he confronted the committee in the entry.

“You were so impolite as to close the door in our faces before we had finished our story,” replied the immovable old sea captain.

“How dare you break in my door?” growled the squire.

“We shall do worse than that, squire, if you don’t treat us respectfully.”

“A man’s house is his castle,” added the squire, a little more moderately.

“That’s very good law, but there isn’t a house in Pinchbrook that is big enough or strong enough to shield a traitor from the indignation of his fellow-citizens. We do not purpose to harm you or your property, if you behave like a reasonable man.”

“You shall suffer for this outrage,” gasped the squire, whose rage was increased by the cool and civil manner of Captain Barney.

“When you closed the door in my face, I had intimated that your fellow-citizens wish you to display the national flag.”

“I refuse to do it, sir.”

“Consider, squire, what you say. The people have made up their minds not to tolerate a traitor within the corporate limits of the town of Pinchbrook.”

“I am no traitor.”

“That is precisely what we wish you to demonstrate to your fellow-citizens assembled outside to witness an exhibition of your patriotism.”

“I will not do it on compulsion.”

“Then, sir, we shall be obliged to resort to disagreeable measures.”

“What do you mean by that, sir?” asked the squire, who was evidently alarmed by the threat. “Do you mean to proceed to violence?”

“We do, Squire Pemberton,” answered Captain Barney, decidedly.

“O my country!” sighed the victim, “has it come to this? The laws will no longer protect her citizens.”

“That’s very fine, sir. Do you expect the laws to protect you while you are aiding and abetting those who are trying to destroy them? Is there any law to protect a traitor in his treason? But we waste time, Squire Pemberton. Will you display the American flag?”

“Suppose I refuse?”

“We will pull your house down over your head. We will give you a coat of tar and feathers, and remove you beyond the limits of the town. If you ever come back, we will hang you to the nearest tree.”

“Good Heaven! Is it possible that my fellow-citizens are assassins—incendiaries!”

“Your answer, squire.”

“For mercy’s sake, husband, do what they ask,” interposed his wife, who had been an anxious listener in the adjoining room.

“I must do it,” groaned the squire, speaking the truth almost for the first time in forty-eight hours. “Alas! where is our boasted liberty of speech!”

“Fudge! squire,” replied Captain Barney, contemptuously. “If your friend Jeff Davis should come to Massachusetts to-morrow, to preach a crusade against the North, and to raise an army to destroy the free institutions of the country, I suppose you think it would be an outrage upon free speech to put him down. We don’t think so. Up with the flag, squire.”

“Fred, you may hang the flag out at the front window up stairs,” said the squire to his son.

“All right, squire. Now a few words more, and we bid you good night. You may think what you please, but if you utter another word of treason in Pinchbrook during the term of your natural life, the party outside will carry out the rest of the programme.”

By this time Fred Pemberton had fastened the flag to one of his mother’s clothes poles, and suspended it out of the window over the porch. It was hailed with three tremendous cheers by the multitude who were in waiting to discipline the squire, and exorcise the evil spirit of treason and secession.

The work of the evening was finished, not wholly to the satisfaction, perhaps, of a portion of the younger members of the assemblage, who would gladly have joined in the work of pillage and destruction, but much to the gratification of the older and steadier portion of the crowd, who were averse to violent proceedings.

Chapter IV.

The Committee come out, and Tom goes in.

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While the committee which the loyal citizens of Pinchbrook had appointed to conduct their case with Squire Pemberton were in the house, engaged in bringing the traitor to terms, the younger members of the assemblage were very impatient to know how matters were progressing. Thomas Somers was particularly anxious to have the affair brought to a crisis. In vain he and a few other of the young loyalists attempted to obtain a view of the interior of the house, where the exciting interview was in progress.

Captain Barney, on shore as well as at sea, was a thorough disciplinarian. Of course, he was aware that his proceedings were technically illegal; that in forcing himself into the house of the squire he was breaking the law of the land; but it seemed to him to be one of those cases where prompt action was necessary, and the law was too tardy to be of any service. He was, however, determined that the business should be done with as little violence as possible, and he had instructed the citizens at the bridge to do no needless injury to the property or the feelings of the squire or his family.

When he entered the house, he had stationed three men at the door to prevent any of the people from following him. He had also directed them not to enter the yard or grounds of the house until he gave the signal. These directions proved a great hardship to the boys in the crowd, and they were completely disgusted when they saw the flag thrown loose from the front window.

The mansion of Squire Pemberton was an old-fashioned dwelling, about a hundred feet from the road. In front of it was a green lawn, adorned with several large buttonwood trees. There was no fence to enclose what was called the front yard. The crowd was assembled on this lawn, and agreeably to the directions of the leader, or chairman of the committee, none of them passed into the yard in the rear and at the end of the house, which was separated from the lawn by a picket fence.

Boys are instinctively curious to know what is going on, and the “living room” of the squire, in which the exciting conversation was taking place, was in the rear of the house. The windows on the front were dark and uncommunicative. The boys were restless and impatient; if there was to be any fun, they wanted to see it. Thomas was as impatient as his fellows, and being more enterprising than the others, he determined, while obeying the instructions of Captain Barney in the spirit, to disobey them in the letter.

He had been a sufferer to the extent of two great wales on the calves of his legs by the treason of the squire, and no doubt he thought he ought to be regarded as an exception to those who were called on to observe the instructions of the chairman of the committee. Leaving the group of inquiring minds near the front door of the house, he walked down the driveway till he came to a rail fence, through which he crawled, and entered the field adjoining the garden of the squire. His fellow-citizens, men and boys, were too intently watching the house to heed him, and no one noticed his enterprising movement.

From the field, he entered the garden, and made his way to the