“Why, they have a flag flying,” he exclaimed at last, “and, Dick, it’s a white one!”
“That’s it,” cried Dick excitedly. “I thought I saw it this morning, but with the sun in our eyes I couldn’t make it out. It is plain enough now; it looks as though they wanted help.”
“They deserve to get it, don’t they?” commented Hugh bitterly, digging his shovel very deep into the snow.
They finished clearing the path in silence, then walked slowly back to the cottage. They sat before the fire for a little, each deep in the same thought.
“He shot Oscar’s dog,” Hugh suddenly broke out. “He made it so that Oscar couldn’t go to war, he—he—Dick, does a man who can do such things deserve any help?”
“He has done worse things than any you know about,” returned Dick, “and I know now that he had a hand in that Indian Kaniska’s leaving us to starve in the woods; he has done every sort of thing, but—but—”
As if with one movement, they both looked
