THE FLAGSTAFF ON THE TOWER. By WARREN BELL.

“Well,” said Mr. Grafton, as he pushed his chair back from the breakfast table, “I think you’ve seen everything there is to be seen in such an out-of-the-way place. Now, Harry, are you sure you’ve shown your friend everything?”

Harry Grafton was my great chum, and I was spending a part of the vacation with him. On hearing his father’s question, he puckered up his brow and gave his not usually overtaxed brain a little exercise.

“Let’s see,” he replied, “you’ve seen the town hall and the old powder mill, my rabbits, the bridge, and the lake. Yes, he’s seen everything, father.”

“But he hasn’t been up the tower yet!” put in Jack Grafton, a young imp of ten summers—and other seasons—who faithfully followed his brother and myself about wherever we went.

Mr. Grafton’s beautiful country house was built of stone, with a tower at one corner. This tower was very high and intersected with little windows here and there.

“No, that he hasn’t!” exclaimed Harry, pleased at the idea of having something else left to show me. “If you’ll let me have the keys, father, we’ll go at once.”

Mr. Grafton hesitated before procuring the needful keys.

“You must be very careful,” he said; “and, Harry, my boy, you mustn’t play any foolhardy pranks up there. Jack, I shan’t allow you to go at all.”

Jack looked doleful as Mr. Grafton handed over the keys to his eldest son, who promptly led the way to the tower.

With some difficulty Harry opened the massive door of the edifice, and just as we were commencing our ascent on the spiral staircase we heard a patter of small feet behind us, and, on looking round, observed that Jack, unknown to his father, had managed to get into the tower as well, by means, as he explained, of a side door which had been left open by some servant.

At first his elder brother was for sending him back, but the little chap pleaded so hard to be allowed to accompany us, that at length Harry yielded to his entreaties, and we continued our journey up the tower, Harry leading the way, myself next, and Jack last.

After a toilsome and dusty climb, we at length emerged on the roof of the tower, from which post of vantage we could see the country for many miles round.

But neither Harry nor Jack troubled themselves much about the view. Delighted at being in such an exalted position, young Jack scampered about the leaden roof in a most frisky manner, while Harry took in his surroundings with all the gusto of a sixteen-year-old schoolboy. After a time they fell to cutting their initials on the leadwork, and, this done, looked about them for a fresh source of amusement. They were not long in finding one.

In the center of the tower had been erected a tall and noble-looking flagstaff. On the morning in question no flag was flying, only the staff and its cordage being visible.

Harry, looking round for something fresh for his “idle hands to do,” spied the vacant staff, and at once came to the conclusion that, as no flag was to hand, something in the shape of one should be made to float in the air in recognition of my visit to the village. So he quickly collected all the handkerchiefs and ties appertaining to the trio, knotted them together, and in a very short time had run them up to the top of the flagstaff, where they floated defiantly in the breeze.

Small Jack clapped his hands with delight, and, climbing a little way up the staff, began to lower and raise the impromptu flag with a too energetic rapidity, for, on running it swiftly up to the top, the cord got entangled in some way, with the result that the string of ties and handkerchiefs remained fixed at the top of the staff, some eighteen feet out of our reach.

“Well, you are a young idiot, Jack!” exclaimed his elder brother angrily. “See what you’ve done!”

The young gentleman addressed had no need to look, for he was fully aware of the magnitude of his crime.

“The cord has come off the roller,” I remarked.

“Yes,” said Harry. “The same thing happened a year ago last Fourth of July, and Tom Cartwright, one of the gardeners, had to climb to the top of the staff and put it right.”

“It’s rather a slender pole to bear a man’s weight,” I said.

“Yes,” said Harry, “everybody thought it was a risky thing to do; but Tom’s a light chap, and he managed it all right. Father gave him two dollars, I remember, for his pluck.”

Harry stopped speaking, and we all three gazed at the far-away ties and handkerchiefs.

“Father will be awfully angry,” said Harry; “and, by Jove! Jack, you’ll get it for coming up when he told you not to.”

Jack was looking exceedingly troubled at this piece of information, when a voice in our rear observed:

“Well, young gentlemen, this is a pretty piece of work!”

We turned round quickly, and perceived that a grimy head, clad in a rough tweed cap, had been poked through the trapdoor which led onto the top of the tower, and that a pair of brown eyes belonging to the same was watching us with considerable interest.

“Oh, Tom, is that you?” exclaimed Harry. “This is the very man I was telling you about,” he continued, turning to me.

Tom Cartwright, after showing us his head, next proceeded to manifest that he possessed a body and a complete set of limbs, by hoisting himself through the trap and standing upright on the roof.

“I’ve been mending a window,” he explained, “and saw you go up the staircase, although you didn’t see me.”

“How are we to get it down?” asked Harry despondingly, pointing to his flag.

Tom jerked and pulled the ropes for some little time, and at length gave it as his opinion that nothing short of “climbin’ would do it.”

“Look here, Tom,” said Harry desperately, “if you’ll climb up and get those things down, I’ll give you all the money I have—fifty cents.”

“And I’ll give you ten cents,” chimed in Jack, putting a grubby little hand in his pocket and pulling out the sum in question.

“I don’t want your money, Master Harry,” said the gardener sturdily, “and if I did, I don’t think I could earn it, as I doubt if this pole ’u’d bear me now. I’m heavier than I was a year ago, and the pole’s not so tough.”

“Oh, it’ll bear you,” said Harry. “You see Tom, I don’t want father to know anything about this.”

Tom smiled grimly as he proceeded to take off his coat and boots.

“I’ll try it, Master Harry,” he said, getting up and shaking the staff by way of testing its bearing properties. “‘Never say die’ is my motto, so here goes.”

With these words the gardener commenced his ascent of the staff, which began to tremble violently beneath his weight. We three clustered at its foot, watching the climber’s movements with hard-drawn breath and straining eyes, for it was no light task that Cartwright had set himself to accomplish. Up, up, up, he went, with the skill of a practiced climber, never pausing and never looking down. In order to find out whether he was observed, Harry ran to the parapet and looked over.

“Why, there’s quite a crowd of people there!” he exclaimed, starting back, “and—and—yes, I can see father among them.”

I took a hasty glance over the parapet myself, and noticed that all the people in the neighborhood were hastening out of their houses in order to get a better view of the intrepid climber. From the point where I looked over, the tower went sheer down to the ground, without a break of any kind.

“Tom has reached the top!” sang out Harry, while I was still gazing at the people below.

I hastened back to the foot of the staff, and perceived that the gardener was rapidly disengaging the line of ties and handkerchiefs from the rope. The staff was trembling violently, and so I suggested to Harry that we three should hold it by its stem, since we might, in that way, be able to steady it in a measure.

So we all seized it, and, as subsequent events proved, it was very fortunate that we did so, for just as Tom had unfastened Harry’s flag and adjusted the line in its proper place, the staff gave a loud crack.

“Look out, Tom!” Harry was just shouting, when the staff broke at the bottom and fell, with its human burden, right across the side of the tower which faced the people below. I remember—indeed, shall I ever forget?—the glimpse that I got of the gardener’s face as the top of the pole flashed over the parapet. He was pale as death, and seemed, as he passed through the air, already to taste the bitterness of death. It was truly an awful moment!

We three at the foot of the pole mechanically clung to it, with the result that our combined weight kept the staff from going right over the parapet. For a few seconds the catastrophe took the shape of a terrible game of seesaw, Cartwright, with the majority of the staff, hanging over the parapet, and ourselves, with little more than the stem of the pole, balancing it down on our side. Meanwhile, the gardener, with wonderful nerve and strength, clung to his frail support. First the staff went down on his side, and we went up in the air. Then, as our combined weight altered our position, Harry got one foot into the trap, with the result that the gardener was poised in the air and held there simply by the strength of Harry’s leg. Cartwright grasped the situation in a moment, and, with a shout to Harry to keep the pole in that position, came down the staff hand over hand till he reached the parapet, when he slid onto the leaden roof and sank down in a dead faint.

Instantly we pulled up the staff amid a tremendous yell of relief from the people below. Two minutes later Mr. Grafton and a dozen of his neighbors were by our side, some attending to Cartwright, and some to little Jack, who had also fainted with fright.

Thus did a boyish freak almost end in a terrible tragedy.