disloyal to her would be to lose his manhood.

Whatever vicissitudes befall, we yearn to return to the old homestead, for
there, and there alone, can we experience, in full measure, the reactions
that came from our early associations with the old well, the bridge that
spans the brook, the trees bending low with their luscious fruit, the
grape arbor, the spring that bubbles and laughs as it gives forth its
limpid treasure, the fields that are redolent of the harvest season, and
the royal meal on the back porch. The man who does not smile in recalling
such scenes of his boyhood days is abnormal, disloyal, and an apostate.
These are the scenes that anchor the soul and give meaning to
civilization. The man who will not fight for the old home, and for the
memory of father and mother, will not fight for the flag of his country
and is, at heart, an alien. But the man who is loyal to the home of his
early years, loyal to the memory of his parents, and loyal to the
principles which they implanted in his life, such a man can never be less
than loyal to the flag that floats over him, loyal to the land in which he
finds his home, and ever loyal to the best and highest interests of that
land. Never, because of him, will the colors of the flag lose their luster
or the stars grow dim. He will be faithful even unto death, because
loyalty throbs in his every pulsation, is proclaimed by his every word, is
enmeshed in every drop of his blood and has become a vital part of
himself.




CHAPTER TWELVE

DEMOCRACY