AN ENGLISH BOY'S HOME
August the First, 19—
Clarence Chugwater looked around him with a frown, and gritted his teeth.
"England—my England!" he moaned.
Clarence was a sturdy lad of some fourteen summers. He was neatly, but not gaudily, dressed in a flat-brimmed hat, a coloured handkerchief, a flannel shirt, a bunch of ribbons, a haversack, football shorts, brown boots, a whistle, and a hockey-stick. He was, in fact, one... more...