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cealed Sir Kenneth from view.

"What can be done?" said the queen to Edith in a whisper of undisguised uneasiness.

“That which must," said Edith firmly. "We must see this gentleman and trust to his honor."

In the interview that followed, the wretched knight begged forgiveness of the Lady Edith for his presumption. He would have returned the ring, but she insisted upon his keeping it, while, at the same time, she begged him to go instantly.

At that moment, sounds came to his ear which recalled him to the full energy of his faculties. He heard first a single fierce, angry, savage bark, which was immediately followed by a yell of agony. No deer ever bounded with a wilder start at the voice of Roswal, than did Sir Kenneth at what he feared

was the death-cry of that noble hound, for no ordinary injury should have extracted the slightest sign of pain.

Kenneth began to run towards the mount, and in a few minutes stood upon the platform at its summit.

The moon broke through a cloud, and showed him that the standard of England had vanished, that the spear on which it had floated lay broken on the ground, and that beside it was his faithful hound, apparently in the agony of death.

It was about the hour of sunrise, when a slow armed tread was heard approaching the king's pavilion; and ere De Vaux, who slumbered beside his master's bed as lightly as ever sleep sat upon the eyes of a watch-dog, had time to do more than arise and say, "Who comes?" the Knight of the Leopard entered the tent, with a deep gloom

upon his manly features.

"Whence this bold intrusion. Sir Knight?" said De Vaux, sternly.

"Hold, De Vaux!" said Richard, awakening on the instant: "Sir Kenneth cometh like a good soldier to render an account of his guard." Then, rising from his slumbering posture, he fixed his large bright eye upon the warrior: "Speak, Sir Scot; thou comest to tell me of a vigilant, safe, and honorable watch, dost thou not? The rustling of the folds of the Banner of England were enough to guard it, even without the body of such a knight as men hold thee."

"As men will hold me no more,” said Sir Kenneth, "my watch hath been neither vigilant, safe, nor honorable. The Banner of England has been carried off."

"And thou alive to tell it? By Saint George!" said the king, bursting into a fury, which he instantly checked. "De Vaux, go view the spot. This cannot be the man's courage is proof. It cannot be! Go speedily."

In his fury, the king started to his feet, and seizing the curtal axe, he drew back the weapon as if to strike.

Colorless, but firm as a marble statue, the Scot stood before him, with his bare head uncovered, Richard waited an instant; then, lowering the huge axe, he exclaimed: "Hark thee, Sir Scot, brave thou wert once for I have seen thee fight. Say thou hast slain two of the thieves in defense of the standard-say but one-say thou hast struck but one good blow in our behalf, and get thee out of the camp with thy life and thy infamy!"

"My Lord King," replied Kenneth, "know that there was no blood shed in defense of the standard save that of a poor hound, which, more faithful than

his master, defended the charge that he trary of what he had expected. Instead deserted." of anger at the dishonorable suggestion, greater wrath against the unlucky Scot was the consequence. For that an untitled knight should dare even to mention the name of his kinswoman was an unpardonable offense in the estimation of Richard.

"Now, by Saint George!" said Richard, again heaving up his arm, but De Vaux threw himself between the king and the object of his vengeance, and spoke bluntly:

"My liege, this must not be—here, nor by your own hand."

In spite of his anger, Richard could not but admire the bearing of the Scot. "Coward or traitor he must be, De Vaux, and yet he abode the blow of Richard Plantagenet. Had he shown the slightest sign of fear-had but a joint trembled, or an eyelid quivered, I had shattered his head like a crystal goblet. But I cannot strike where there is neither fear nor resistance."

There was a pause.

"My lord," said Kenneth"Ha!" Richard interrupted, "hast thou found thy speech? Ask grace from Heaven, but none from me, for England is dishonored through thy

fault; and wert thou mine own and

only brother, there is no pardon for thy

fault."

"I speak not to demand grace of mortal man," said the Scot.

Sir Kenneth had heard indirectly that the other princes were secretly plotting to betray the cause, and even to induce Richard to consent to yield his cousin, the Lady Edith, to become an inmate of the harem of the Sultan Saladin; and that Richard's reward for his share in this disgraceful bargain was to be named the King Guardian of Jerusalem, and to divide the empire with Saladin.

When Kenneth ventured to expose this plot to the king, he was dismayed to find that the result was just the con

"Silence, infamous and audacious one!" thundered the king. "What is it to thee, if she marry Saracen or Christian? What is it to thee, if in a camp. where princes turn cowards by day and robbers by night-where brave knights turn to paltry deserters and traitorswhat is it, I say, to thee or anyone, if I should please to ally myself to truth and to valor, in the person of Saladin?"

"Little to me, indeed, to whom all the world will soon be as nothing," answered Sir Kenneth boldly; "but were I now stretched on the rack I would tell thee that what I have said is much to

thine own conscience and thine own dost but in thought entertain the purfame. I tell thee, Sir King, that if thou pose of wedding thy kinswoman, the Lady Edith❞—

"Name her not-and not for an instant think of her!" said the King, again straining the curtal axe in his grip.

"Not name, not think of her!" exclaimed Sir Kenneth. "Now, by the Cross, her name shall be the last word in my mouth, her image the last thought in my mind. Try thy boasted strength on this bare brow, and see if thou canst prevent my purpose."

"He will drive me mad!" said Richard. "Away with him, De Vaux-and stay-we will not have him dishonored he shall die knight-like, in his belt and spurs."

Kenneth was then taken in custody by the guards, and removed to a separate tent, where he was disarmed and put in fetters for security.

In a few minutes De Vaux appeared, and said solemnly, "It is the king's pleasure that you prepare for speedy death."

Queen Berengaria, although she affected to make light of her ill-timed jest, was secretly concerned lest it might lead to serious consequences. Early in the morning word was brought to the Lady Edith that the standard had been stolen, that Sir Kenneth had been denounced by the king and that his life could be saved only by prompt intervention. Edith hastened to the

queen and exclaimed:

"Up, madam, and let us to King Richard's tent, and beg the poor gentleman's life!"

"I will go I will go," said the Queen. "But if Richard be in his mood, I dare not speak to him—he will kill me."

I

"Remain at your ease, madam. will go to King Richard. I will know if the honor of a maiden of his blood is to be so far tampered with, that her name shall be abused to train a brave

gentleman from his duty, bring him within the compass of infamy and death and make at the same time the glory of England a laughing-stock to the whole Christian army."

At this burst of passion, Berengaria, in alarm, cried: "I will go, I will go!" and Edith reluctantly paused to await her movements.

On the entrance of Queen Berengaria with her attendants, into Richard's pavilion, the monarch was lying on his couch, and as if awaiting his further

commands, stood a man clothed in a red garment which was so arranged as to leave his arms bare. Over that he wore a sleeveless coat of bull's hide. A cap of rough shag served to hide the upper part of his face, the lower part being covered with a coarse red beard. mingling with shaggy locks of the same color. This man was leaning on a sword, the blade of which was nearly four feet and a half long, while the handle rose considerably above his head, as he stood waiting for King Richard's further orders.

"Send away that man-his looks kill me," were the first words of the Queen. as she encountered the King's astonished gaze.

"Begone, sirrah," said Richard "what wait'st thou for? Art thou fit to look .upon these ladies?"

"Your Highness' pleasure touching the head," said the man.

"Out with thee, dog!" answered Richard, "a Christian burial."

*

So incensed was Richard at what he regarded as a treasonable breach of faith, that he was adamant to the pleadings of both the queen and Edith. Sir Kenneth would shortly have paid the penalty of his neglect of duty with his life, had not the execution been delayed by the sudden appearance of Hakim, the Arab physician, who demanded that the life of Kenneth should be spared in return for the cure that his skill had wrought upon the king. Richard tried in vain to persuade El Hakim to choose some other reward. Finally he said:

"Hakim, thou hast chosen thy boon: and though I had rather thou had'st asked my crown-jewels, yet I may not, king-like, refuse thee. Take this Scot,

therefore, to thy keeping. The provost will deliver him to thee on this warrant."

He hastily traced a few words, and gave the paper to the physician. "Use him as thy bond-slave, to be disposed of as thou wilt-only let him beware how he comes before the eyes of Rich

THE BANNER BETSY MADE.

By Thomas C. Harbaugh.

(It is an historical fact that the first American flag was made by Mrs. Betsy Ross, a Quaker lady of Philadelphia.)

We have nicknamed it "Old Glory"
As it floats upon the breeze,
Rich in legend, song and story
On the land and on the seas;
Far above the shining river,

Over mountain, gorge and glade, With a fame that lives forever,

Floats the banner Betsy made.

Once it went from her-its maker,
To the glory of the wars,
Once the modest little Quaker
Deftly studded it with stars;
And her fingers swiftly flying
Thru the sunshine and the shade
Welded colors bright, undying
In the banner Betsy made.

When at last her needle rested
And her cherished task was done,
Went the banner, love-invested,

To the camps of Washington;
And the glorious continentals
In the morning light arrayed,
Stood in ragged regimentals

'Neath the banner Betsy made.

How they cheered it and its maker,
They, the gallant sons of Mars;
How they blessed the little Quaker
And her flag of stripes and stars;
'Neath its folds, the foeman scorning,
Glinted bayonet and blade,
And the breezes of the morning
Kissed the banner Betsy made.

A protector all have found it,

And beneath it stands no slave; Freemen brave have died around itOn the land and on the wave; In the foremost front of battle Borne by heroes not afraid, 'Mid the cannon's loud death rattle Soared the banner Betsy made.

ard. Let him consult his own safety, and never appear in my presence more."

"May thy days be multiplied," answered the Hakim, and withdrew from the apartment, after the usual deep obeisance.

(to be continued)

Years have passed but still in glory With a pride we love to see, Laureled with a Nation's story,

Waves the emblem of the free; From the rugged pines of Northland To the deepening Everglade In the sunny heart of Southland Floats the banner Betsy made.

Now she sleeps, whose fingers flying, With a heart to Freedom true, Mingled colors bright-undying,

Fashioned stars on field of blue; It will lack for no defender

When the foreign foes invade, For our Nation rose to splendor 'Neath the banner Betsy made.

It has been said the Marseillaise was worth a million troops to France any day.

Enjoying light music requires no apology.

The East High School, Cleveland, Ohio, is organizing vocational work calculated to retain the children in school and to offer a so-called lifecareer motive in education. One of the pupils in a written class-room statement remarks pertinently, "I would like to be a school-teacher because I have always taken a fancy to teach. My mother said it takes too much schooling for the pay you get after you get to be a teacher." When shall we give those priceless individuals who "have a fancy to teach" adequate return for their training and ability? The American Child.

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THE EDUCATOR-JOURNAL

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George L. Roberts, Head Department of Education Purdue University;

H. L. Smith, Dean School of Education, Indiana University;

William N. Otto, Shortridge High School, Indianapolis;

Frances M. Kelsey, Teachers College of Indianapolis.

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M. P. Helm, Indianapolis, Indiana.

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