"You're going to stand with us, then, Fleming?" he said, as Harry
came up to shake hands. "Good boy! We're of one blood, we
English and you Americans. We've had our quarrels, but relatives
always do quarrel. And you'll not be asked, as a scout here,
to do anything an American shouldn't do."

Then it was over. They were out in the street. In the distance
newsboys were yelling their extra still. Many people were out,
something unusual in that quiet neighborhood. And suddenly one of
the scouts lifted his voice, and in a moment they were all
singing:

Rule, rule, Britannia!
Britannia rules the waves!
Britons never, never, never shall be slaves!

Scores of voices swelled the chorus, joining the fresh young
voices of the scouts. And then someone started that swinging
march song that had leaped into popularity at the time of the Boer
War, Soldiers of the Queen. The words were trifling, but there
was a fine swing to the music, and it was not the words that
counted -- it was the spirit of those who sang.

As he marched along with the others Harry noticed one thing. In a
few hours the whole appearance of the streets had changed. From
every house, in the still night air, drooped a Union Jack. The
flag was everywhere; some houses had flung out half a dozen to the
wind.

Harry was seeing a sight, that once seen, can never be forgotten.