Colonel Silsbee’s manner was deliberate, and his voice was very firm as he began to speak.

“I promised your committee,” he said, “to give you my decision at this time in the matter of your proposed holiday. I will say at the outset, that your request, if it may be considered a request, cannot be granted. Perhaps I should leave the matter there, and refrain from giving you the reasons for my decision; but this is an unusual case, and I will take the unusual course of explaining my action.

“There are several good reasons for my decision to deny what you ask. In the first place, it would have been impossible to make the proper arrangements between the time your petition was handed to me and the time at which it would have been necessary to start. Moreover, I am informed that the woods are still too damp to make it quite safe for you to spend a whole day there. Some of you are quite delicate in health, and I should not be willing to allow you thus to expose yourselves.

“These reasons would be sufficient on which to base a refusal of your demand if there were no others; but there are others, and they are such as to make a refusal necessary simply as a matter of school discipline.

“I cannot—no teacher could—receive with favor a paper couched in such language as is the one which you have presented to me this morning. A holiday in this school is not a matter of right, but of grace. That must be plainly understood. Petitions must be so worded as to imply authority in the principal; if they are not, they certainly will not be granted; they will not even be considered. More than that, the presentation hereafter of such a petition as the one of this morning will be regarded not only as a breach of courtesy, but of discipline, and will be acted upon accordingly.

“I will take this opportunity to add something more. There has been for some weeks a spirit of disorder prevalent among you, which must be effectually quelled before any favors can be shown to the school as a whole. We have been very patient with you, and have tried to temper justice with mercy. Now I desire to give you fair notice that I propose to be master here, and that the rules of this school, and the orders of my teachers and officers, must be obeyed to the letter. If any boy chooses to dispute this point practically, we shall make it convenient to do without him at Riverpark.

“But while desiring and intending to maintain strict discipline in the school, I desire to be not only fair and just, but magnanimous; and when I discover a better feeling on your part, and an honest effort to live up to your duties as gentlemen and soldiers, I shall most assuredly meet you more than half way.

“Let this be made manifest by your conduct, and it will not be necessary for you to present petitions; it will be my pleasure to anticipate your reasonable desires for enjoyment, and to indulge them without the asking.

“Now you understand me. I regret that in thus speaking to you it is necessary for me to address the school as a whole. There are manly boys here who deserve only words of commendation. They are the more deserving, because they have maintained a high standing in the midst of adverse influences. I take this opportunity to thank them publicly.

“Officer of the day, you may call the classes.”

The last words were addressed to the cadet-official who sat at the desk. Then Colonel Silsbee descended from the platform, crossed the room, and entered his office.

There was no opportunity for the petitioners to take counsel together concerning the refusal of their petition until the recess for luncheon at twelve o’clock. The sandwiches were brought up, as usual, in a huge tray, and placed on the desk, and each boy took one as he passed by in the march from the schoolroom. A minute later, in the drill-hall, the petitioners gathered in excited groups, and discussed the situation loudly.

There was general disappointment, and not a little ill-feeling; there were even some expressions of downright anger.

A few of the boys boldly declared their determination to take a holiday at the first opportunity, with or without leave; but for the greater number, the determined words and earnest manner of Colonel Silsbee had acted as a temporary check to the formation of projects involving any breach of the rules.

The recess was only fifteen minutes in length, and the students were soon all back in the schoolroom, where the usual order of exercises was carried out; but nobody remembered a day on which all the recitations had been so poor, and everybody was glad when the afternoon session was at an end.

At two o’clock came dinner. Drill was from three to four; after that the session for delinquents, and then an hour’s respite before retreat.

During this interval, a half-dozen of the leading spirits of disorder locked themselves in Fryant’s room to discuss plans for “getting even with the old man.” It seemed to be “the sense of the meeting” that a holiday should be had, regardless of the morning’s refusal.

The only questions at issue were, how, when, and where the project could be carried out. No one was quite bold enough, as yet, to propose that the school as a body, or any material part of it, should set out for a holiday, purposely and deliberately, against the will of the principal. That would be open rebellion. But as the discussion and feeling both waxed warmer, the approach to such an end became more apparent.

“He’s tyrannized over us long enough!” exclaimed Drake. “If we don’t show him what our rights are, an’ take ’em, we’ll get to be nigger slaves before the term’s done!”

“Talk about our being gentlemen and soldiers!” protested another, pompously. “We are, and more. But when oppression grows too severe, even soldiers rebel against it, and the civilized world upholds them in rebellion. I say go! I say run up the black flag! I say fight, if need be, for liberty! I say—”

There came a knock at the door, and the impassioned orator lapsed into sudden and trembling silence; but it was only one of the delinquents, who had heard of the meeting, and desired to participate in it. He was allowed to enter.

Not long afterward another one came, and still others, until finally the room was full of excited and rebellious boys. The latest comer was Plumpy.

“Plumpy,” said Fryant, authoritatively, “this is a secret brotherhood, with a well-defined object. Do you desire to join the mystic fraternity?”

“If the court knows herself,” answered the fat boy, “she do.”

“Very well. Let’s initiate him into the—the—”

“Order of the Black Star,” suggested some one.

“Yes, Order of the Black Star. Now, John Porcupine Fatness de Montmorency Jones, remove all unnecessary clothing from above your waist.”

“Will you allow me first to make my will, gentlemen? ‘Let but the commons hear this testament, which, pardon me, I do not mean to—’”

“No! no!” shouted a half-dozen boys, pouncing on him, pulling off his coat and vest, and opening wide the bosom of his shirt.

“Bring forth the ink indelible, and set the seal of our most noble order on his brawny front.”

A mucilage-brush was dipped into an ink-bottle by some one, and a great rude star was hastily daubed on the fat boy’s bared and ample breast, in spite of his struggles and his squeals.

The operation served to put new ideas into the fertile mind of Drake.

“Let’s have a genuine society,” he said, “and have a black star for a badge, and every one that belongs to it wear it under the lapel of his coat, or inside his jacket.”

The idea was caught up enthusiastically, and in a few moments a dozen hands were busy cutting rude stars out of paper, daubing them with black ink, and pinning them to coats and vests. In the midst of this occupation the signal for retreat was heard; and with an understanding that they should hold all matters secret, and meet again in the same room immediately after supper, the members of the new Order hurried away.

On no one in the school had Colonel Silsbee’s address of the morning fallen with greater severity than on Brightly. The strong denunciation of the language of the petition had cut deeply into his sensibilities. Every boy in the school knew that he had drawn the paper; he believed that Colonel Silsbee himself knew it.

He had of late grown partially indifferent to his suspension and disgrace; even the stings of conscience were becoming somewhat dulled; but now came a thrust at his pride and vanity that not only made new, deep wounds, but set the old ones bleeding afresh. It roused within him a spirit of resentment that he had not felt before; it changed his moodiness into reckless obstinacy; it gave him an excuse to take another long leap downward.

He had descended, by degrees, from his lofty height of six months before, one step after another, three steps at a time, until, with this latest plunge, he found himself down among the common elements, among ignoble spirits, mixing with the lawless crowd.

He felt, indeed, the shame, the disgrace, the humiliation of it all; he suffered far more than he himself knew. But he had allowed this insidious disease so to sap his moral strength and weaken his force of character, that he had now neither the courage nor the will to make the attempt to climb back to manhood and self-respect.

The situation had become so manifestly serious that Harple again made the attempt, that afternoon, to reason his misguided chum into a different state of mind. The good fellow was patient, persevering, tearfully earnest; but, alas! he was wholly unsuccessful. The demoralized student was in no mood even to listen with respect. He repelled every kind advance with sharp impatience. He was excited and feverish; he paced the floor nervously; he was fast losing control of his own will.

Harple’s alarm increased rapidly and materially. He put on his cap, went downstairs, and walked out alone across the fields, trying to devise some plan of rescue for his friend. He felt that the danger was great and immediate.

Brede was no less annoyed and excited about the result of the petition than was Brightly himself. His name had been the first one signed to it. He felt that Colonel Silsbee’s denunciation had been aimed directly at him, and it roused anger and resentment in his breast also.

Since the night of his visit to Colonel Silsbee’s office, after the fight between Brightly and Belcher, his lower nature had come to the front, and had manifested itself in a hundred ugly ways; and since the hour when Brightly’s bold lie blocked his path to sweet revenge, he had made no effort to hold his evil disposition in check. Stings of jealousy, hurts of reproof, pangs of disappointment, had so clouded and embittered for him the passing days, that not even his fondness for flattery or pride of position could keep him longer above the level toward which his natural inclinations were constantly drawing him.

And now, this morning, the last straw had fallen; he could bear the burden of respectability no longer. He threw discretion and even self-respect to the winds, and declared his readiness to take part in any rebellious plan for pleasure, no matter how desperate or how disorderly.

So a strange thing happened. When the conspirators met in Fryant’s room that evening, according to agreement, both Brightly and Brede were present with them.

Every boy wondered at that; every one knew that they were rivals and enemies, and had been since the first week they were at the school together; every one knew that the exalted positions to which both had attained were the result, in great part, of the ungenerous rivalry between them, of the strong determination on the part of each to outdo the other for the mere sake of outdoing; every one knew moreover, that during the last few weeks the feeling between them had degenerated into downright bitterness and hate.

Yet here they were, ready to join hands with each other and their companions in any wild scheme for the upheaval of discipline and the inauguration of rebellion.

The door was locked, and the meeting began its secret session. The most important thing that suggested itself was a grip, the fashion of which, after much discussion, was decided on. Then a password was adopted. Finally, it occurred to some one to suggest that the society should have officers.

Plumpy spoke up. “I move,” he said, “that Captain Brede be the Chief High Muck-a-Muck of this Benighted Band of Brothers.”

For once, his words were taken seriously, and by whispered votes Brede was elected chief.

“Now,” continued Plumpy, “I nominate Temporary Ex-Lieutenant Brightly for Grand Scribbler of the Lone Goose Quill, Great Splasher of the Blood-red Seal, Most Gorgeous Manipulator of the Golden Purse, and—”

Brightly stepped out from the crowd. “I don’t want your offices,” he said impatiently. “I’m ready to go with you any time, anywhere, and do my part; but I don’t want your offices.”

The zeal for electing officers suddenly died out, and excited discussion ensued as to how and when the object of the organization could be best accomplished.

It was finally agreed that the chairman should appoint a committee of five to decide upon that matter. The rest were to hold themselves in readiness to go, at a moment’s notice, whenever the committee should give the word, and to follow without question the lead of the chief. Among his five advisers Brede did not appoint Brightly.

The drum, sounding the call for the evening session, interrupted the deliberations of the conspirators; and, one by one, they passed quietly into the hall and down the stairs. The short recess preceding tattoo was devoted to proselyting, and before taps sounded that night, many an ink-splashed paper star was pinned in a hidden place on coat or vest.

In the school at large there was feverish excitement. Those who were not in the secret were puzzled by the general air of mystery which prevailed. Those who were in the conspiracy gathered in whispering groups, and discussed the situation.

Morning came, but the excitement had not abated,—indeed, it had grown in intensity. At the breakfast-table the teachers noted the spirit of suppressed turbulence which seemed to be in the air, and feared trouble. Two of them went to Colonel Silsbee as soon as the dining-room was clear, and gave expression to their fear. They related various matters which had attracted their attention during the previous day and evening, and which seemed to indicate that serious mischief was brewing.

In the mean time, in the drill-hall, down in a corner by the armory, Brede was holding a consultation with his committee. The discussion was an animated one.

“I say to-day!” exclaimed Fryant,—“now! There’s no time like the present; we’ll never have a better chance.”

“But we’re not ready,” protested another; “we’ve got no plan; we don’t know where we’re going!”

“It don’t matter where we go,” insisted Drake,—“anywhere to get out of this place; an’ we don’t want a plan,—that ’ud be too much like a regular holiday. It’s a hundred times jollier to let things turn up as they will, an’ take ’em as they come. I say go!”

“The only way to decide it,” said Brede, “is to vote on it. Whatever a majority of us vote to do we’ll do, and we can’t afford to lose any time about it either. All you who want to take a holiday to-day say ‘Ay’!”

There was a chorus of ays. There was but one dissenting voice in the committee, and the owner of that was soon won over.

“Now, let’s have it unanimous,” said Fryant; “put the motion again, Brede.”

The motion was put again, and was carried with a yell.

The other students, many of whom were gathered in whispering groups, or were passing rapidly from one group to another, startled by this unusual sound, turned toward Brede and his companions to learn the cause of it. Fryant broke away from the group and started toward the middle of the floor, gesticulating wildly.

“The time has come!” he cried. “Order of the Black Star, we go to-day!—now—ready—get your caps—follow us—come on!”

For a moment there was dead silence. Every one was too astonished to speak or to move; the order to go had come with such startling suddenness. Then Brede made a dash for his cap. Others ran for theirs. There was a general movement toward the drill-hall door. Talking and shouting began again. Some one cried, “Show your stars!” and in a moment the ink-splashed paper stars were displayed outside of coats and jackets. Plumpy produced one on which he had labored zealously the night before, and which covered his entire breast.

Outside there was a moment’s halt. Brede had turned toward his rash followers, many of whom were pale and trembling with excitement, and cried tragically:

“All cowards turn back! All men and soldiers follow me!”

Then, closely surrounded by the leading spirits of rebellion, he moved rapidly across the drill-ground toward the high board fence that enclosed Riverpark on the south. The rest followed them like frightened sheep.

Some went, realizing fully the enormity of their offence. Others were carried away in the whirl of passion and excitement; and still others, reckless of results, caring nothing for either past or future, went without a thought beyond the desire to go.