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Afternoon,” all East Side children’s favorite, burst forth, and out of the seeming confusion came rhythmic order as the whole body of children moved, singing, along the floor.

Down below, the deserted street—deserted for once in the day—had grown strangely still. The policeman nodded contentedly: “good business, indeed.” This was a kind of roof patrol he could appreciate. Nothing to do; less for to-morrow, for here they were not planning raids on the grocer’s stock. They were happy, and when children are happy, they are safe, and so are the rest of us. It is the policeman’s philosophy, and it is worth taking serious note of.

A warning blast on a trumpet and the “Star-spangled Banner” floated out over the house-tops. The children ceased dancing; every boy’s cap came off, and the chorus swelled loud and clear:

	“—in triumph shall wave
	O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.”

The light shone upon the thousand upturned faces. Scarce one in a hundred of them all that did not bear silent witness to persecution which had driven a whole people over the sea, without home, without flag. And now—my eyes filled with tears. I said it: I am getting old and silly.

It was so at the still bigger school at Hester and

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