Dame Dermody's mystic book was closed; Dame Dermody's weird black
eyes were watching us in our corner. I approached her; and Mary
followed me timidly, by a footstep at a time.

The Sibyl took me by the hand, with a caressing gentleness which
was new in my experience of her.

"Do you prize that toy?" she inquired, looking at the flag. "Hide
it!" she cried, before I could answer. "Hide it--or it may be
taken from you!"

"Why should I hide it?" I asked. "I want to fly it at the mast of
my boat."

"You will never fly it at the mast of your boat!" With that
answer she took the flag from me and thrust it impatiently into
the breast-pocket of my jacket.

"Don't crumple it, grandmother!" said Mary, piteously.

I repeated my question:

"Why shall I never fly it at the mast of my boat?"

Dame Dermody laid her hand on the closed volume of Swedenborg
lying in her lap.

"Three times I have opened this book since the morning," she
said. "Three times the words of the prophet warn me that there is
trouble coming. Children, it is trouble that is coming to You. I