The water was a new element for Gordon.  The home of the Keiths was in the high country back from the great watercourses, and Gordon had never had a pair of oars in his hands, nor did he know how to swim; but he meant to learn.  The sight of the boats rowed about by boys of his own age filled him with envy.  And one of them, when he first caught sight of it, inspired him with a stronger feeling than envy.  It was painted white and was gay with blue and red stripes around the gunwale.  In it sat two boys.  One, who sat in the stern, was about Gordon’s age; the other, a little larger than Gordon, was rowing and used the oars like an adept.  In the bow was a flag, and Gordon was staring at it, when it came to him with a rush that it was a “Yankee” flag.  He was conscious for half a moment that he took some pride in the superiority of the oarsman over the boys in the other boats.  His next thought was that he had a little Confederate flag in his trunk.  He had brought it from home among his other treasures.  He would show his colors and not let the Yankee boys have all of the honors.  So away he put as hard as his legs could carry him.  When he got back to the waterside he hired a boat from among those lying tied at the stairs, and soon had his little flag rigged up, when, taking his seat, he picked up the oars and pushed off.  It was rather more difficult than it had looked.  The oars would not go together.  However, after a little he was able to move slowly, and was quite elated at his success when he found himself out on the lake.  Just then he heard a shout: 

“Take down that flag!”

Gordon wished to turn his boat and look around, but could not do so.  However, one of the oars came out of the water, and as the boat veered a little he saw the boys in the white boat with the Union flag bearing down on him.

The oarsman was rowing with strong, swift strokes even while he looked over his shoulder, and the boat was shooting along as straight as an arrow, with the clear water curling about its prow.  Gordon wished for a moment that he had not been so daring, but the next second his fighting—­blood was up, as the other boy called imperiously: 

“Strike that flag!”

Gordon could see his face now, for he was almost on him.  It was round and sunburnt, and the eyes were blue and clear and flashing with excitement.  His companion, who was cheering him on, was Ferdy Wickersham.

“Strike that flag, I say,” called the oarsman.

“I won’t.  Who are you?  Strike your own flag.”

“I am Norman Wentworth.  That’s who I am, and if you don’t take that flag down I will take it down for you, you little nigger-driving rebel.”

Gordon Keith was not a boy to neglect the amenities of the occasion.

“Come and try it then, will you, you nigger-stealing Yankees!” he called.  “I will fight both of you.”  And he settled himself for defence.

“Well, I will,” cried his assailant.  “Drop the tiller, Ferdy, and sit tight.  I will fight fair.”  Then to Gordon again:  “I have given you fair warning, and I will have that flag or sink you.”