THE FLAG-RAISING

by

KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN

CONTENTS

 I. A DIFFERENCE IN HEARTS II. REBECCA'S POINT OF VIEW III. WISDOM'S WAYS IV. THE SAVING OF THE COLORS V. THE STATE O' MAINE

I

A DIFFERENCE IN HEARTS

"I DON' know as I cal'lated to be the makin' of any child, " Miranda hadsaid as she folded Aurelia's letter and laid it in the light-standdrawer. "I s'posed of course Aurelia would send us the one we askedfor, but it's just like her to palm off that wild young one on somebodyelse. "

"You remember we said that Rebecca, or even Jenny might come, in caseHannah could n't, " interposed Jane. 

"I know we did, but we hadn't any notion it would turn out that way, "grumbled Miranda. 

"She was a mite of a thing when we saw her three years ago, " venturedJane; "she's had time to improve. "

"And time to grow worse!"

"Won't it be kind of a privilege to put her on the right track?" askedJane timidly. 

"I don' know about the privilege part; it'll be considerable work, Iguess. If her mother hasn't got her on the right track by now, shewon't take to it herself all of a sudden. "

This depressed and depressing frame of mind had lasted until theeventful day dawned on which Rebecca was to arrive. 

"If she makes as much work after she comes as she has before, we mightas well give up hope of ever gettin' any rest, " sighed Miranda as shehung the dish towels on the barberry bushes at the side door. 

"But we should have had to clean house, Rebecca or no Rebecca, " urgedJane; "and I can't see why you've scrubbed and washed and baked as youhave for that one child, nor why you've about bought out Watson's stockof dry goods. "

"I know Aurelia if you don't, " responded Miranda. "I've seen her house, and I've seen that batch o' children, wearin' one another's clothes andnever carin' whether they had 'em on right side out or not; I know whatthey've had to live and dress on, and so do you. That child will likeas not come here with a bundle o' things borrowed from the rest o' thefamily. She'll have Hannah's shoes and John's undershirts and Mark'ssocks most likely. I suppose she never had a thimble on her finger inher life, but she'll know the feelin' o' one before she's been heremany days. I've bought a piece of unbleached muslin and a piece o'brown gingham for her to make up; that'll keep her busy. Of course shewon't pick up anything after herself; she probably never saw a duster, and she'll be as hard to train into our ways as if she was a heathen. "

"She'll make a dif'rence, " acknowledged Jane, "but she may turn outmore biddable than we think. "

"She'll mind when she's spoken to, biddable or not, " remarked Mirandawith a shake of the last towel. 

Miranda Sawyer had a heart, of course, but she had never used it forany other purpose than the pumping and circulating of blood. She wasjust, conscientious, economical, industrious; a regular attendant atchurch and Sunday-school, and a member of the State Missionary andBible societies, but in the presence of all these chilly virtues youlonged for one warm little fault, or lacking that, one likable failing, something to make you sure that she was thoroughly alive. She had neverhad any education other than that of the neighborhood district school, for her desires and ambitions had all pointed to the management of thehouse, the farm, and the dairy. Jane, on the other hand, had gone to anacademy, and also to a boarding-school for young ladies; so hadAurelia; and after all the years that had elapsed there was still aslight difference in language and in manner between the elder and thetwo younger sisters. 

Jane, too, had had the inestimable advantage of a sorrow; not thenatural grief at the loss of her aged father and mother, for she hadbeen resigned to let them go; but something far deeper. She was engagedto marry young, Tom Carter, who had nothing to marry on, it is true, but who was sure to have, some time or other. Then the war broke out. Tom enlisted at the first call. Up to that time Jane had loved him witha quiet, friendly sort of affection, and had given her country a mildemotion of the same sort. But the strife, the danger, the anxiety ofthe time, set new currents of feeling in motion. Life became somethingother than the three meals a day, the round of cooking, washing, sewing, and churchgoing. Personal gossip vanished from the villageconversation. Big things took the place of trifling ones, --sacredsorrows of wives and mothers, pangs of fathers and husbands, self-denials, sympathies, new desire to bear one another's burdens. Menand women grew fast in those days of the nation's trouble and danger, and Jane awoke from the vague dull dream she had hitherto called lifeto new hopes, new fears, new purposes. Then after a year's anxiety, ayear when one never looked in the newspaper without dread and sicknessof suspense, came the telegram saying that Tom was wounded; and withoutso much as asking Miranda's leave, she packed her trunk and started forthe South. She was in time to hold Tom's hand through hours of pain; toshow him for once the heart of a prim New England girl when it isablaze with love and grief; to put her arms about him so that he couldhave a home to die in, and that was all;--all, but it served. 

It carried her through weary months of nursing--nursing of othersoldiers for Tom's dear sake; it sent her home a better woman; andthough she had never left Riverboro in all the years that lay between, and had grown into the counterfeit presentment of her sister and of allother thin, spare, New England spinsters, it was something of acounterfeit, and underneath was still the faint echo of that wildheartbeat of her girlhood. Having learned the trick of beating andloving and suffering, the poor faithful heart persisted, although itlived on memories and carried on its sentimental operations mostly insecret. 

"You're soft, Jane, " said Miranda once; "you allers was soft, and youallers will be. If't wa'n't for me keeping you stiffened up, I b'lieveyou'd leak out o' the house into the dooryard. "

It was already past the appointed hour for Mr. Cobb and his coach to belumbering down the street. 

"The stage ought to be here, " said Miranda, glancing nervously at thetall clock for the twentieth time. "I guess everything's done. I'vetacked up two thick towels back of her washstand and put a mat underher slop-jar; but children are awful hard on furniture. I expect wesha'n't know this house a year from now. " Jane's frame of mind wasnaturally depressed and timorous, having been affected by Miranda'sgloomy presages of evil to come. The only difference between thesisters in this matter was that while Miranda only wondered how theycould endure Rebecca, Jane had flashes of inspiration in which shewondered how Rebecca would endure them. It was in one of these flashesthat she ran up the back stairs to put a vase of apple blossoms and ared tomato-pincushion on Rebecca's bureau. 

The stage rumbled to the side door of the brick house, and Mr. Cobbhanded Rebecca out like a real lady passenger. She alighted with greatcircumspection, put a bunch of flowers in her aunt Miranda's hand, andreceived her salute; it could hardly be called a kiss without injuringthe fair name of that commodity. "You need n't 'a'bothered to bringflowers, " remarked that gracious and tactful lady; "the garden's alwaysfull of 'em here when it comes time. "

Jane then kissed Rebecca, giving a somewhat better imitation of thereal thing than her sister. 

"Put the trunk in the entry, Jeremiah, and we'll get it carriedupstairs this afternoon, " she said. 

"I'll take it up for ye now, if ye say the word, girls. "

"No, no; don't leave the horses; somebody'll be comin' past, and we cancall 'em in. "

"Well, good-by, Rebecca; good-day, Mirandy 'n' Jane. You've got alively little girl there. I guess she'll be a first-rate companykeeper. "

Miss Sawyer shuddered openly at the adjective "lively" as applied to achild; her belief being that though children might be seen, ifabsolutely necessary, they certainly should never be heard if she couldhelp it. "We're not much used to noise, Jane and me, " she remarkedacidly. 

Mr. Cobb saw that he had spoken indiscreetly, but he was too unused toargument to explain himself readily, so he drove away, trying to thinkby what safer word than "lively" he might have described hisinteresting little passenger. 

"I'll take you up and show you your room, Rebecca, " Miss Miranda said. "Shut the mosquito nettin' door tight behind you, so's to keep theflies out; it ain't fly time yet, but I want you to start right; takeyour parcel along with you and then you won't have to come down for it;always make your head save your heels. Rub your feet on that braidedrug; hang your hat and cape in the entry as you go past. "

"It's my best hat, " said Rebecca. 

"Take it upstairs then and put it in the clothes-press; but I shouldn't'a' thought you'd 'a' worn your best hat on the stage. "

"It's my only hat, " explained Rebecca. "My every-day hat was n't goodenough to bring. Sister Fanny's going to finish it. "

"Lay your parasol in the entry closet. "

"Do you mind if I keep it in my room, please? It always seems safer. "

"There ain't any thieves hereabouts, and if there was, I guess theywouldn't make for your sunshade; but come along. Remember to always goup the back way; we don't use the front stairs on account o' thecarpet; take care o' the turn and don't ketch your foot; look to yourright and go in. When you've washed your face and hands and brushedyour hair you can come down, and by and by we'll unpack your trunk andget you settled before supper. Ain't you got your dress on hind sideforemost?"

Rebecca drew her chin down and looked at the row of smoked pearlbuttons running up and down the middle of her flat little chest. "Hindside foremost? Oh, I see! No, that's all right. If you have sevenchildren you can't keep buttonin' and unbuttonin' 'em all thetime--they have to do themselves. We're always buttoned up in front atour house. Mira's only three, but she's buttoned up in front, too. "

Miranda said nothing as she closed the door, but her looks were moreeloquent than words. 

Rebecca stood perfectly still in the centre of the floor and lookedabout her. There was a square of oilcloth in front of each article offurniture and a drawn-in rug beside the single four poster, which wascovered with a fringed white dimity counterpane. 

Everything was as neat as wax, but the ceilings were much higher thanRebecca was accustomed to. It was a north room, and the window, whichwas long and narrow, looked out on the back buildings and the barn. 

It was not the room, which was far more comfortable than Rebecca's ownat Sunnybrook Farm, nor the lack of view, nor yet the long journey, forshe was not conscious of weariness; it was not the fear of a strangeplace, for she adored new places and new sensations; it was because ofsome curious blending of uncomprehended emotions that Rebecca stood herbeloved pink sunshade in the corner, tore off her best hat, flung it onthe bureau with the porcupine quills on the under side, and strippingdown the dimity spread, precipitated herself into the middle of the bedand pulled the counterpane over her head. 

In a moment the door opened with a clatter of the latch. 

Knocking was a refinement quite unknown in Riverboro, and if it hadbeen heard of, it would never have been wasted on a child. Miss Mirandaentered, and as her eye wandered about the vacant room, it fell upon awhite and tempestuous ocean of counterpane, an ocean breaking intostrange movements of wave and crest and billow. 

"Rebecca!"

The tone in which the word was voiced gave it all the effect of havingbeen shouted from the housetops. 

A dark ruffled head and two frightened eyes appeared above the dimityspread. 

"What are you layin' on your good bed in the daytime for, messin' upthe feathers, and dirtyin' the comforter with your dusty boots?"

Rebecca rose guiltily. There seemed no excuse to make. Her offense wasbeyond explanation or apology. 

"I'm sorry, Aunt Mirandy-something came over me; I don't know what. "

"Well, if it comes over you very soon again we'll have to find out what't is. Spread your bed up smooth this minute, for 'Bijah Flagg'sbringin' your trunk upstairs, and I wouldn't let him see such acluttered-up room for anything; he'd tell it all over town. "

When Mr. Cobb had put up his horses that night he carried a kitchenchair to the side of his wife, who was sitting on the back porch. 

"I brought a little Randall girl down on the stage from Maplewoodto-day, mother. She's related to the Sawyer girls an' is goin' to livewith 'em, " he said, as he sat down and began to whittle. "She'sAurelia's child, the sister that ran away with Susan Randall's son justbefore we come here to live. "

"How old a child?"

"Bout ten, or somewhere along there, an' small for her age; but land!she might be a hundred to hear her talk! She kept me jumpin' tryin' toanswer her! Of all the queer children I ever come across she's thequeerest. She ain't no beauty--her face is all eyes; but if she evergrows up to them eyes an' fills out a little she'll make folks stare. Land, mother! I wish 't you could 'a' heard her talk. "

"I don't see what she had to talk about, a child like that, to astranger, " replied Mrs. Cobb. 

"Stranger or no stranger, 't would n't make no difference to her. She'dtalk to a pump or a grindstone; she'd talk to herself ruther 'n keepstill. "

"What did she talk about?

"Blamed if I can repeat any of it. She kept me so surprised I didn'thave my wits about me. She had a little pink sunshade--it kind o'looked like a doll's umberella, 'n' she clung to it like a burr to awoolen stockin'. I advised her to open it up--the sun was so hot; butshe said no, 't would fade, an' she tucked it under her dress. 'It'sthe dearest thing in life to me, ' says she, 'but it's a dreadful care. 'Them's the very words, an' it's all the words I remember. 'It's thedearest thing in life to me, but it's an awful care!'"--here Mr. Cobblaughed aloud as he tipped his chair back against the side of thehouse. "There was another thing, but I can't get it right exactly. Shewas talkin' 'bout the circus parade an' the snake charmer in a goldchariot, an' says she, 'She was so beautiful beyond compare, Mr. Cobb, that it made you have lumps in your throat to look at her. ' She'll becomin' over to see you, mother, an' you can size her up for yourself, Idon' know how she'll git on with Mirandy Sawyer--poor little soul!"

This doubt was more or less openly expressed in Riverboro, which, however, had two opinions on the subject; one that it was a mostgenerous thing in the Sawyer girls to take one of Aurelia's children toeducate, the other that the education would be bought at a price whollyout of proportion to its real value. 

Rebecca's first letters to her mother would seem to indicate that shecordially coincided with the latter view of the situation. 

II

REBECCA'S POINT OF VIEW

DEAR MOTHER, --I am safely here. My dress was not much tumbled and AuntJane helped me press it out. I like Mr. Cobb very much. He chewstobacco but throws newspapers straight up to the doors of the houses. Irode outside with him a little while, but got inside before I got toAunt Miranda's house. I did not want to, but thought you would like itbetter. Miranda is such a long word that I think I will say Aunt M. AndAunt J. In my Sunday letters. Aunt J. Has given me a dictionary to lookup all the hard words in. It takes a good deal of time and I am gladpeople can talk without stoping to spell. It is much eesier to talkthan write and much more fun. The brick house looks just the same asyou have told us. The parler is splendid and gives YOU creeps andchills when you look in the door. The furnature is ellergant too, andall the rooms but there are no good sitting-down places exsept in thekitchen. The same cat is here but they never save the kittens and thecat is too old to play with. Hannah told me once you ran away to bemarried to father and I can see it would be nice. If Aunt M. Would runaway I think I should like to live with Aunt J. She does not hate me asbad as Aunt M. Does. Tell Mark he can have my paint box, but I shouldlike him to keep the red cake in case I come home again. I hope Hannahand John do mot get tired doing my work. 

Your afectionate friend

REBECCA. 

P. S. Please give the piece of poetry to John because he likes mypoetry even when it is not very good. This piece is not very good butit is true but I hope you won't mind what is in it as you ran away. 

 This house is dark and dull and dreer No light doth shine from far or near Its like the tomb. 

 And those of us who live herein Are almost as dead as serrafim Though not as good. 

 My guardian angel is asleep At leest he doth not virgil keep Ah! Woe is me!

 Then give me back my lonely farm Where none alive did wish me harm Dear home of youth!

P. S. Again. I made the poetry like a piece in a book but could not getit right at first. You see "tomb" and "good" do not sound well togetherbut I wanted to say "tomb" dreadfully and as serrafim are always good Icould n't take that out. I have made it over now. It does not say mythoughts as well but think it is more right. Give the best one to Johnas he keeps them in a box with his bird's eggs. This is the best one. 

SUNDAY THOUGHTS

BY

REBECCA ROWENA RANDALL

 This house is dark and dull and drear No light doth shine from far or near Nor ever could. 

 And those of us who live herein Are most as dead as seraphim Though not as good. 

 My guardian angel is asleep At least he doth no vigil keep But far doth roam. 

 Then give me back my lonely farm Where none alive did wish me harm, Dear childhood home!

DEAR MOTHER, --I am thrilling with unhappyness this morning. I got thatout of a book called Cora The Doctor's Wife. Cora's husband's motherwas very cross and unfeeling to her like Aunt M. To me. I wish Hannahhad come instead of me for it was Hannah that Aunt M. Wanted and she isbetter than I am and does not answer back so quick. Are there anypeaces of my buff calico. Aunt J. Wants enough to make a new waste, button behind, so I wont look so outlandish. The stiles are quitepretty in Riverboro and those at Meeting quite ellergant, more so thanin Temperance. 

 This town is stilish, gay and fair, And full of wellthy riches rare, But I would pillow on my arm The thought of my sweet Brookside Farm. 

School is pretty good. The Teacher can answer more questions than theTemperance one but not so many as I can ask. I am smarter than all thegirls but one but not so smart as two boys. Emma Jane can add andsubtract in her head like a streek of lightning and knows the spelingbook right through but has no thoughts of any kind. She is in the ThirdReader but does not like stories in books. I am in the Sixth Reader butjust because I cannot say the seven multiplication Table Miss Dearbornthrettens to put me in the baby primer class with Elijah and ElishaSimpson little twins. 

 Sore is my heart and bent my stubborn pride, With Lijah and with Lisha am I tied, My soul recoyles like Cora Doctor's Wife, Like her I feer I cannot bare this life. 

I am going to try for the speling prize but fear I cannot get it. Iwould not care but wrong speling looks dreadful in poetry. Last Sundaywhen I found seraphim in the dictionary I was ashamed I had made itserrafim but seraphim is not a word you can guess at like another longone, outlandish, in this letter which spells itself. Miss Dearborn saysuse the words you can spell and if you cant spell seraphim make angeldo but angels are not just the same as seraphims. Seraphims arebrighter whiter and have bigger wings and I think are older and longerdead than angels which are just freshly dead and after a long time inheaven around the great white throne grow to be seraphims. 

I sew on brown gingham dresses every afternoon when Emma Jane and theSimpsons are playing house or running on the Logs when their mothers donot know it. Their mothers are afraid they will drown and aunt M. Isafraid I will wet my clothes so will not let me either. I can play fromhalf past four to supper and after supper a little bit and Saturdayafternoons. I am glad our cow has a calf and it is spotted. It is goingto be a good year for apples and hay so you and John will be glad andwe can pay a little more morgage. Miss Dearborn asked us what is theobject of edducation and I said the object of mine was to help pay offthe morgage. She told Aunt M. And I had to sew extra for punishmentbecause she says a morgage is disgrace like stealing or smallpox and itwill be all over town that we have one on our farm. Emma Jane is notmorgaged nor Richard Carter nor Dr. Winship but the Simpsons are. 

 Rise my soul, strain every nerve, Thy morgage to remove, Gain thy mother's heartfelt thanks Thy family's grateful love. 

Pronounce family quick or it won't sound right. 

Your loving little friend REBECCA. 

DEAR JOHN, --YOU remember when we tide the new dog in the barn how hebit the rope and howled. I am just like him only the brick house is thebarn and I can not bite Aunt M. Because I must be grateful andedducation is going to be the making of me and help you pay off themortgage when we grow up. 

Your loving BECKY. 

III. 

WISDOM'S WAYS

THE day of Rebecca's arrival had been Friday, and on the Mondayfollowing she began her education at the school which was in RiverboroCentre, about a mile distant. Miss Sawyer borrowed a neighbor's horseand wagon and drove her to the schoolhouse, interviewing the teacher, Miss Dearborn, arranging for books, and generally starting the child onthe path that was to lead to boundless knowledge. 

Rebecca walked to school after the first morning. She loved this partof the day's programme. When the dew was not too heavy and the weatherwas fair there was a short cut through the woods. She turned off themain road, crept through Joshua Woodman's bars, waved away Mrs. Carter's cows, trod the short grass of the pasture, with its well-wornpath running through gardens of buttercups and whiteweed, and groves ofboxberry leaves and sweet fern. She descended a little hill, jumpedfrom stone to stone across a woodland brook, startling the drowsyfrogs, who were always winking and blinking in the morning sun. Thencame the "woodsy bit, " with her feet pressing the slippery carpet ofbrown pine needles; the woodsy bit so full of dewy morningsurprises, --fungous growths of brilliant orange and crimson springingup around the stumps of dead trees, beautiful things born in a singlenight; and now and then the miracle of a little clump of waxen Indianpipes, seen just quickly enough to be saved from her careless tread. Then she climbed a stile, went through a grassy meadow, slid underanother pair of bars, and came out into the road again, having gainednearly half a mile. 

How delicious it all was! Rebecca clasped her Quackenbos's Grammar andGreenleaf's Arithmetic with a joyful sense of knowing her lessons. Herdinner pail swung from her right hand, and she had a blissfulconsciousness of the two soda biscuits spread with butter and syrup, the baked cup-custard, the doughnut, and the square of hardgingerbread. Sometimes she said whatever "piece" she was going to speakon the next Friday afternoon. 

"A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack ofwoman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears. "

How she loved the swing and the sentiment of it! How her young voicequivered whenever she came to the refrain:--

"But we'll meet no more at Bingen, dear Bingen on the Rhine. "

It always sounded beautiful in her ears, as she sent her tearful littletreble into the clear morning air. 

Another early favorite (for we must remember that Rebecca's onlyknowledge of the great world of poetry consisted of the selections invogue in the old school Readers) was:--

 "Woodman, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough! In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now. "

When Emma Jane Perkins walked through the "short cut" with her, the twochildren used to render this with appropriate dramatic action. EmmaJane always chose to be the woodman because she had nothing to do butraise on high an imaginary axe. On the one occasion when she essayedthe part of the tree's romantic protector, she represented herself asfeeling "so awful foolish" that she refused to undertake it again, muchto the secret delight of Rebecca, who found the woodman's role much tootame for her vaulting ambition. She reveled in the impassioned appealof the poet, and implored the ruthless woodman to be as brutal aspossible with the axe, so that she might properly put greater spiritinto her lines. One morning, feeling more frisky than usual, she fellupon her knees and wept in the woodman's petticoat. Curiously enough, her sense of proportion rejected this as soon as it was done. 

"That wasn't right, it was silly, Emma Jane; but I'll tell you where itmight come in--in 'Give me Three Grains of Corn. ' You be the mother, and I'll be the famishing Irish child. For pity's sake put the axedown; you are not the woodman any longer!"

"What'll I do with my hands, then?" asked Emma Jane. 

"Whatever you like, " Rebecca answered wearily; "you're just amother--that's all. What does your mother do with her hands? Nowheregoes!

 "'Give me three grains of corn, mother, Only three grains of corn, It will keep the little life I have Till the coming of the morn. '"

This sort of thing made Emma Jane nervous and fidgety, but she wasRebecca's slave and obeyed her lightest commands. At the last pair ofbars the two girls were sometimes met by a detachment of the Simpsonchildren, who lived in a black house with a red door and a red barnbehind, on the Blueberry Plains road. Rebecca felt an interest in theSimpsons from the first, because there were so many of them and theywere so patched and darned, just like her own brood at the home farm. 

The little schoolhouse with its flagpole on top and its two doors infront, one for boys and the other for girls, stood on the crest of ahill, with rolling fields and meadows on one side, a stretch of pinewoods on the other, and the river glinting and sparkling in thedistance. It boasted no attractions within. All was as bare and uglyand uncomfortable as it well could be, for the villages along the riverexpended so much money in repairing and rebuilding bridges that theywere obliged to be very economical in school privileges. The teacher'sdesk and chair stood on a platform in one corner; there was an uncouthstove, never blackened oftener than once a year, a map of the UnitedStates, two blackboards, a ten-quart tin pail of water and long-handleddipper on a corner shelf, and wooden desks and benches for thescholars, who only numbered twenty in Rebecca's time. The seats werehigher in the back of the room, and the more advanced and longer-leggedpupils sat there, the position being greatly to be envied, as they wereat once nearer to the windows and farther from the teacher. 

There were classes of a sort, although nobody, broadly speaking, studied the same book with anybody else, or had arrived at the samedegree of proficiency in any one branch of learning. Rebecca inparticular was so difficult to classify that Miss Dearborn at the endof a fortnight gave up the attempt altogether. She read with DickCarter and Living Perkins, who were fitting for the academy; recitedarithmetic with lisping little "Thuthan Thimpthon;" geography with EmmaJane Perkins, and grammar after school hours to Miss Dearborn alone. Full to the brim as she was of clever thoughts and quaint fancies, shemade at first but a poor hand at composition. The labor of writing andspelling, with the added difficulties of punctuation and capitals, interfered sadly with the free expression of ideas. She took historywith Alice Robinson's class, which was attacking the subject of theRevolution, while Rebecca was bidden to begin with the discovery ofAmerica. In a week she had mastered the course of events up to theRevolution, and in ten days had arrived at Yorktown, where the classhad apparently established summer quarters. Then finding that extraeffort would only result in her reciting with the oldest Simpson boy, she deliberately held herself back, for wisdom's ways were not those ofpleasantness nor her paths those of peace if one were compelled totread them in the company of Seesaw Simpson. Samuel Simpson wasgenerally called Seesaw, because of his difficulty in making up hismind. Whether it were a question of fact, of spelling, or of date, ofgoing swimming or fishing, of choosing a book in the Sunday-schoollibrary or a stick of candy at the village store, he had no soonerdetermined on one plan of action than his wish fondly reverted to theopposite one. Seesaw was pale, flaxen haired, blue eyed, roundshouldered, and given to stammering when nervous. Perhaps because ofhis very weakness, Rebecca's decision of character had a fascinationfor him, and although she snubbed him to the verge of madness, he couldnever keep his eyes away from her. The force with which she tied hershoe when the lacing came undone, the flirt over shoulder she gave herblack braid when she was excited or warm, her manner of studying, --bookon desk, arms folded, eyes fixed on the opposite wall, --all had anabiding charm for Seesaw Simpson. When, having obtained permission, shewalked to the water pail in the corner and drank from the dipper, unseen forces dragged Seesaw from his seat to go and drink after her. It was not only that there was something akin to association andintimacy in drinking next, but there was the fearful joy of meeting herin transit and receiving a cold and disdainful look from her wonderfuleyes. 

On a certain warm day in summer Rebecca's thirst exceeded the bounds ofpropriety. When she asked a third time for permission to quench it atthe common fountain Miss Dearborn nodded "yes, " but lifted her eyebrowsunpleasantly as Rebecca neared the desk. As she replaced the dipperSeesaw promptly raised his hand, and Miss Dearborn indicated a wearyaffirmative. 

"What is the matter with you, Rebecca?" she asked. 

"It is a very thirsty morning, " answered Rebecca. 

There seemed nothing humorous about this reply, which was merely thestatement of a fact, but an irrepressible titter ran through theschool. Miss Dearborn did not enjoy jokes neither made nor understoodby herself, and her face flushed. 

"I think you had better stand by the pail for five minutes, Rebecca; itmay help you to control your thirst. "

Rebecca's heart fluttered. She to stand in the corner by the water pailand be stared at by all the scholars! She unconsciously made a gestureof angry dissent and moved a step nearer her seat, but was arrested byMiss Dearborn's command in a still firmer voice. 

"Stand by the pail, Rebecca!--Samuel Simpson how many times have youasked for water already?"

"This is the f-f-fourth. "

"Don't touch the dipper, please. The school has done nothing but drinkall day; it has had no time whatever to study. What is the matter withyou, Samuel?"

"It is a v-very thirsty m-morning, " remarked Samuel, looking at Rebeccawhile the school tittered. 

"I judged so. Stand by the other side of the pail, with Rebecca. "Rebecca's head was bowed with shame and wrath. Life looked too black athing to be endured. The punishment was bad enough, but to be coupledin correction with Seesaw Simpson was beyond human endurance. 

Singing was the last exercise in the afternoon, and Minnie Smelliechose "Shall we Gather at the River?" It was a curious choice andseemed to hold some secret association with the situation and generalprogress of events; or at any rate there was apparently some obscurereason for the energy and vim with which the scholars looked at theempty water pail as they shouted the choral invitation again andagain:--

 "Shall we gather at the river, The beautiful, the beautiful river?"

Miss Dearborn stole a look at Rebecca's bent head, and was frightened. The child's face was pale save for two red spots glowing on her checks. Tears hung on her lashes; her breath came and went quickly, and thehand that held her pocket handkerchief trembled like a leaf. 

"You may go to your seat, Rebecca, " said Miss Dearborn at the end ofthe first song. "Samuel, stay where you are till the close of school. And let me tell you, scholars, that I asked Rebecca to stand by thepail only to break up this habit of incessant drinking, which isnothing but empty-mindedness and desire to walk to and fro over thefloor. Every time Rebecca has asked for a drink to-day the whole schoolhas gone to the pail like a regiment. She is really thirsty, and I daresay I ought to have punished you for following her example, not her forsetting it. What shall we sing now, Alice?"

"'The Old Oaken Bucket, ' please. "

"Think of something dry, Alice, and change the subject. Yes, 'The StarSpangled Banner' if you like, or anything else. " Rebecca sank into herseat and pulled the singing book from her desk. Miss Dearborn's publicexplanation had shifted some of the weight from her heart, and she felta trifle raised in her self-esteem. 

Under cover of the general relaxation of singing, offerings ofrespectful sympathy began to make their appearance at her shrine. Living Perkins, who could not sing, dropped a piece of maple sugar inher lap as he passed her on his way to the blackboard to draw the mapof Maine, while Alice Robinson rolled a perfectly new slate pencil overthe floor with her foot until it reached Rebecca's place. 

Altogether existence grew brighter, and when she was left alone withthe teacher for her grammar lesson she had nearly recovered herequanimity, which was more than Miss Dearborn had. The last clatteringfoot had echoed through the hall, Seesaw's backward glance of penitencehad been met and answered defiantly by one of cold disdain. 

"Rebecca, I am afraid I punished you more than I meant, " said MissDearborn, who was only eighteen herself, and in her year of teachingcountry schools had never encountered a child like Rebecca. 

"I had n't missed a question this whole day, nor whispered either, "quavered the culprit; "and I don't think I ought to be shamed just fordrinking. "

"You started all the others, or it seemed as if you did. Whatever youdo they all do, whether you laugh, or write notes, or ask to leave theroom, or drink; and it must be stopped. "

"Sam Simpson is a copycoat!" stormed Rebecca. "I would n't have mindedstanding in the corner alone--that is, not so very much; but I couldn'tbear standing with him. "

"I saw that you could n't, and that's the reason I told you to takeyour seat, and left him in the corner. Remember that you are a strangerin the place, and they take more notice of what you do, so you must becareful. Now let's have our conjugations. Give me the verb 'to be, 'potential mood, past perfect tense. "

 "I might have been Thou mightst have been He might have been We might have been You might have been They might have been"

"Give me an example, please. "

 "I might have been glad Thou mightst have been glad He, she, or it might have been glad"

"'He' or 'she' might have been glad because they are masculine andfeminine, but could 'it' have been glad?" asked Miss Dearborn, who wasvery fond of splitting hairs. 

"Why not?" asked Rebecca. 

"Because 'it' is neuter gender. "

"Could n't we say, 'The kitten might have been glad if it had known itwas not going to be drowned'?"

"Ye-es, " Miss Dearborn answered hesitatingly, never very sure ofherself under Rebecca's fire; "but though we often speak of a baby, achicken, or a kitten as 'it, ' they are really masculine or femininegender, not neuter. "

Rebecca reflected a long moment and then asked, "Is a hollyhock neuter?"

"Oh yes, of course it is, Rebecca. "

"Well, could n't we say, 'The hollyhock might have been glad to see itrain, but there was a weak little baby bud growing out of its stalk andit was afraid it might be hurt by the storm; so the big hollyhock waskind of afraid, instead of being real glad'?"

Miss Dearborn looked puzzled as she answered, "Of course, Rebecca, hollyhocks could not be sorry, or glad, or afraid, really. "

"We can't tell, I s'pose, " replied the child; "but I think they are, anyway. Now what shall I say?"

"The subjunctive mood, past perfect tense of the verb 'to know. '"

 "If I had known If thou hadst known If he had known If we had known If you had known If they had known"

"Oh, it is the saddest tense, " sighed Rebecca with a little a littlebreak in her voice; "nothing but ifs, ifs, ifs! And it makes you feelthat if they only had known, things might have been better!"

Miss Dearborn had not thought of it before, but on reflection shebelieved the subjective mood was a "sad" one and "if" rather a sorry"part of speech. "

"Give me some examples of the subjective, Rebecca, and that will do forthis afternoon, " she said. 

"If I had not eaten salt mackerel for breakfast I should not have beenthirsty, " said Rebecca with an April smile, as she closed her grammar. "If thou hadst love me truly thou wouldst not have stood me up in thecorner. If Samuel had not loved wickedness he would not have followedme to the water pail. "

"And if Rebecca had loved the rules of the school she would havecontrolled her thirst, " finished Miss Dearborn with a kiss, and the twoparted friends. 

IV

THE SAVING OF THE COLORS

EVEN when Rebecca had left school, having attained the great age ofseventeen and therefore able to look back over a past incredibly longand full, she still reckoned time not by years, but by certainimportant occurrences. Between these epoch-making events certain otherhappenings stood out in bold relief against the gray of dull dailylife. There was the coming of the new minister, for though many weretried only one was chosen; and finally there was the flag-raising, afestivity that thrilled Riverboro and Edgewood society from centre tocircumference, a festivity that took place just before she entered theFemale Seminary at Wareham and said good-by to kind Miss Dearborn andthe village school. 

There must have been other flag-raisings in history, --even the personsmost interested in this particular one would grudgingly have allowedthat much, --but it would have seemed to them improbable that any suchflag-raising, as theirs could twice glorify the same century. Of somepageants it is tacitly admitted that there can be no duplicates, andthe flag-raising at Riverboro Centre was one of these; so that it issmall wonder if Rebecca chose it as one of the important dates in herpersonal almanac. Mrs. Baxter, the new minister's wife, was the being, under Providence, who had conceived the first idea of the flag. Mrs. Baxter communicated her patriotic idea of a new flag to the DorcasSociety, proposing that the women should cut and make it themselves. 

"It may not be quite as good as those manufactured in the largecities, " she said, "but we shall be proud to see our home-made flagflying in the breeze, and it will mean all the more to the young votersgrowing up, to remember that their mothers made it with their ownhands. "

"How would it do to let some of the girls help?" modestly asked MissDearborn, the Riverboro teacher. "We might chose the best sewers andlet them put in at least a few stitches, so that they can feel theyhave a share in it. "

"Just the thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Baxter. "We can cut the stripes andsew them together, and after we have basted on the white stars thegirls can apply them to the blue ground. We must have it ready for thecampaign rally, and we could n't christen it at a better time than inthis presidential year. "

In this way the great enterprise was started, and day by day thepreparations went forward in the two villages. 

The boys, as future voters and soldiers, demanded an active share inthe proceedings, and were organized by Squire Bean into a fife and drumcorps, so that by day and night martial but most inharmonious musicwoke the echoes, and deafened mothers felt their patriotism oozing outat the soles of their shoes. Dick Carter was made captain, for hisgrandfather had a gold medal given him by Queen Victoria for rescuingthree hundred and twenty-six passengers from a sinking British vessel. Riverboro thought it high time to pay some graceful tribute to GreatBritain in return for her handsome, conduct to Captain Nahum Carter, and human imagination could contrive nothing more impressive than avicarious share in the flag-raising. 

Miss Dearborn was to be Columbia and the older girls of the two schoolswere to be the States. Such trade in muslins and red, white, and blueribbons had never been known since "Watson kep' store, " and the numberof brief white petticoats hanging out to bleach would leave caused thepassing stranger to imagine Riverboro a continual dancing-school. 

Juvenile virtue, both male and female, reached an almost impossibleheight, for parents had only to lift a finger and say, "You shan't goto the flag-raising!" and the refractory spirit at once armed itselffor new struggles toward the perfect life. Mr. Jeremiah Cobb hadconsented to impersonate Uncle Sam, and was to drive Columbia and theStates to the "raising" on the top of his own stage. Meantime the boyswere drilling, the ladies were cutting and basting and stitching, andthe girls were sewing on stars; for the starry part of the spangledbanner was to remain with each of them in turn until she had performedher share of the work. 

It was felt by one and all a fine and splendid service indeed to helpin the making of the flag, and if Rebecca was proud to be of the chosenones, so was her Aunt Jane Sawyer, who had taught her all her delicatestitches. 

On a long-looked-for afternoon in August the minister's wife drove upto the brick-house door, and handed out the great piece of bunting toRebecca, who received it in her arms with as much solemnity as if ithad been a child awaiting baptismal rites. 

"I'm so glad!" she sighed happily. "I thought it would never come myturn!"

"You should have had it a week ago, but Huldah Meserve upset the inkbottle over her star, and we had to baste on another one. You are thelast, though, and then we shall sew the stars and stripes together, andSeth Strout will get the top ready for hanging. Just think, it won't bemany days before you children will be pulling the rope with all yourstrength, the band will be playing, the men will be cheering, and thenew flag will go higher and higher, till the red, white, and blue showsagainst the sky!"

Rebecca's eyes fairly blazed. "Shall I 'hem on' my star, or buttonholeit?" she asked. 

"Look at all the others and make the most beautiful stitches you can, that's all. It is your star, you know, and you can even imagine it isyour state, and try and have it the best of all. If everybody else istrying to do the same thing with her state, that will make a greatcountry, won't it?"

Rebecca's eyes spoke glad confirmation of the idea. "My star, mystate!" she repeated joyously. "Oh, Mrs. Baxter, I'll make such finestitches you'll, think the white grew out of the blue!"

The new minister's wife looked pleased to see her spark kindle a flamein the young heart. "You can sew so much of yourself into your star, "she went on in the glad voice that made her so winsome, "that when youare an old lady you can put on your specs and find it among all theothers. Good-by! Come up to the parsonage Saturday afternoon; Mr. Baxter wants to see you. "

"Judson, help that dear little genius of a Rebecca all you can!" shesaid that night. "I don't know what she may, or may not, come to, someday; I only wish she were ours! If you could have seen her clasp theflag tight in her arms and put her cheek against it, and watched thetears of feeling start in her eyes when I told her that her star washer state! I kept whispering to myself, "'Covet not thy neighbor'schild!

Daily at four o'clock Rebecca scrubbed her hands almost to the bone, brushed her hair, and otherwise prepared herself in body, mind, andspirit for the consecrated labor of sewing on her star. All the timethat her needle cautiously, conscientiously formed the tiny stitchesshe was making rhymes "in her head, " her favorite achievement beingthis:--

 "Your star, my star, all our stars together, They make the dear old banner proud To float in the bright fall weather. "

There was much discussion as to which of the girls should impersonatethe State of Maine, for that was felt to be the highest honor in thegift of the committee. 

Alice Robinson was the prettiest child in the village, but she was veryshy and by no means a general favorite. 

Minnie Smellie possessed the handsomest dress and a pair of whiteslippers and open-work stockings that nearly carried the day, but shewas not at all the person to select for the central figure on theplatform. 

Huldah Meserve was next voted upon, and the fact that if she were notchosen her father might withdraw his subscription to the brass bandfund was a matter for grave consideration. 

"I kind of hate to have such a giggler for the State of Maine; letHuldah be the Goddess of Liberty, " proposed Mrs. Burbank, whosepatriotism was more local than national. 

"How would Rebecca Randall do for Maine, and let her speak some of herverses?" suggested the new minister's wife, who, could she have had herway, would have given all the prominent parts to Rebecca, from UncleSam down. 

So, beauty, fashion, and wealth having been tried and found wanting, the committee discussed the claims of talent, and it transpired that tothe awestricken Rebecca fell the chief plum in the pudding. It was atribute to her gifts that there was no jealousy or envy among the othergirls; they readily conceded her special fitness for the role. 

Her life had not been pressed down full to the brim of pleasures, andshe had a sort of distrust of joy in the bud. Not until she saw it infull radiance of bloom did she dare embrace it. She had never read anyverse but Byron, Felicia Hemans, bits of "Paradise Lost, " and theselections in the school readers, but she would have agreed heartilywith the poet who said:--

 "Not by appointment do we meet delight And joy; they heed not our expectancy; But round some corner in the streets of life They on a sudden clasp us with a smile. "

For many nights before the raising, when she went to her bed, she saidto herself after she had finished her prayers: "It can't be true thatI'm chosen for the State of Maine! It just can't be true! Nobody couldbe good enough, but oh, I'll try to be as good as I can! To be going toWareham Seminary next week and to be the State of Maine too! Oh! I mustpray hard to God to keep me meek and humble!"

The flag was to be raised on a Tuesday, and on the previous Sunday itbecame known to the children that Clara Belle Simpson was coming backfrom Acreville, coming to live with Mrs. Fogg and take care of thebaby. Clara Belle was one of Miss Dearborn's original flock, and if shewere left wholly out of the festivities she would be the only girl ofsuitable age to be thus slighted; it seemed clear to the juvenile mind, therefore, that neither she nor her descendants would ever recover fromsuch a blow. But, under all the circumstances, would she be allowed tojoin in the procession? Even Rebecca, the optimistic, feared not, andthe committee confirmed her fears by saying that Abner Simpson'sdaughter certainly could not take any prominent part in the ceremony, but that they hoped Mrs. Fogg would allow her to witness it. 

When Abner Simpson, urged by the town authorities, took his wife andseven children away from Riverboro to Acreville, just over the borderin the next county, Riverboro went to bed leaving its barn and sheddoors unfastened, and drew long breaths of gratitude to Providence. 

Of most winning disposition and genial manners, Mr. Simpson had notthat instinctive comprehension of property rights which renders a man avaluable citizen. 

Abner was a most unusual thief, and conducted his operations with atact and neighborly consideration none too common in the profession. Hewould never steal a man's scythe in haying-time, nor his fur lap-robein the coldest of the winter. The picking of a lock offered noattractions to him; "he wa'n't no burglar, " he would have scornfullyasserted. A strange horse and wagon hitched by the roadside was themost flagrant of his thefts; but it was the small things--the hatchetor axe on the chopping-block, the tin pans sunning at the side door, astray garment bleaching on the grass, a hoe, rake, shovel, or a bag ofearly potatoes--that tempted him most sorely; and these appealed to himnot so much for their intrinsic value as because they were soexcellently adapted to "swapping. " The swapping was really theenjoyable part of the procedure, the theft was only a sad but necessarypreliminary; for if Abner himself had been a man of sufficient propertyto carry on his business operations independently, it is doubtful if hewould have helped himself so freely to his neighbor's goods. 

Riverboro regretted the loss of Mrs. Simpson, who was useful inscrubbing, cleaning, and washing, and was thought to exercise someinfluence over her predatory spouse. There was a story of their earlylife together, when they had a farm; a story to the effect that Mrs. Simpson always rode on every load of hay that her husband took toMilltown, with the view of keeping him sober through the day. After heturned out of the country road and approached the metropolis, it wassaid that he used to bury the docile lady in the load. He would thendrive on to the scales, have the weight of hay entered in the buyer'sbook, take his horses to the stable for feed and water, and when afavorable opportunity offered he would assist the hot and panting Mrs. Simpson out of the side or back of the rack, and gallantly brush thestraw from her person. For this reason it was always asserted thatAbner Simpson sold his wife every time he went to Milltown, but thestory was never fully substantiated, and at all events it was the onlysuspected blot on meek Mrs. Simpson's personal reputation. 

As for the Simpson children, they were missed chiefly as familiarfigures by the roadside; but Rebecca honestly loved Clara Belle, notwithstanding her Aunt Miranda's opposition to the intimacy. Rebecca's curious taste in friends was a source of continual anxiety toher aunt. 

"Anything that's human flesh is good enough for her!" Miranda groanedto Jane. "She'll ride with the rag-sack-and-bottle peddler just asquick as she would with the minister; she always sets beside thebarefooted young ones at Sabbath school; and she's forever riggin' andonriggin' that dirty Simpson baby! She reminds me of a puppy that'llalways go to everybody that'll have him!"

It was thought very creditable to Mrs. Fogg that she sent for ClaraBelle to live with her and go to school part of the year. "She'll beuseful, " said Mrs. Fogg, "and she'll be out of her father's way, and sokeep honest; though she's so awful homely I've no fears for her. A girlwith her red hair, freckles, and cross-eyes can't fall into no kind ofsin, I don't believe. "

Mrs. Fogg requested that Clara Belle should be started on her journeyfrom Acreville by train and come the rest of the way by stage, and shewas disturbed to receive word on Sunday that Mr. Simpson had borrowed ahorse from a new acquaintance, and would himself drive the girl fromAcreville to Riverboro, a distance of thirty-five miles. That he wouldarrive in their vicinity on the very night before the flag-raising wasthought by Riverboro to be a public misfortune, and several residentshastily determined to deny themselves a sight of the festivities andremain watchfully on their own premises. 

On Monday afternoon the children were rehearsing their songs at themeeting-house. As Rebecca came out on the broad wooden steps shewatched Mrs. Peter Meserve's buggy out of sight, for in front, wrappedin a cotton sheet, lay the precious flag. After a few chatteringgood-byes and weather prophecies with the other girls, she started onher homeward walk, dropping in at the parsonage to read her verses tothe minister. 

He welcomed her gladly as she removed her white cotton gloves (hastilyslipped on outside the door, for ceremony) and pushed back the funnyhat with the yellow and black porcupine quills--the hat with which shemade her first appearance in Riverboro society. 

"You've heard the beginning, Mr. Baxter; now will you please tell me ifyou like the last verse?" she asked, taking out her paper. "I've onlyread it to Alice Robinson, and I think perhaps she can never be a poet, though she's a splendid writer. Last year when she was twelve she wrotea birthday poem to herself, and she made 'natal' rhyme with 'Milton, 'which, of course, it wouldn't. I remember every verse ended:--

 'This is my day so natal And I will follow Milton. '

Another one of hers was written just because she couldn't help it shesaid. This was it:--

 'Let me to the hills away, Give me pen and paper; I'll write until the earth will sway The story of my Maker. '"

The minister could scarcely refrain from smiling, but he controlledhimself that he might lose none of Rebecca's quaint observations. Whenshe was perfectly at ease, unwatched and uncriticised, she was amarvelous companion. 

"The name of the poem is going to be 'My Star, '" she continued, "andMrs. Baxter gave me all the ideas, but somehow there's a kind ofmagicness when they get into poetry, don't you think so?" (Rebeccaalways talked to grown people as if she were their age, or, a moresubtle and truer distinction, as if they were hers. )

"It has often been so remarked, in different words, " agreed theminister. 

"Mrs. Baxter said that each star was a state, and if each state did itsbest we should have a splendid country. Then once she said that weought to be glad the war is over and the States are all at peacetogether; and I thought Columbia must be glad, too, for Miss Dearbornsays she's the mother of all the States. So I'm going to have it endlike this: I did n't write it, I just sewed it while I was working onmy star:--

 "For it's your star, my star, all the stars together, That make our country's flag so proud To float in the bright fall weather. Northern stars, Southern stars, stars of the East and West, Side by side they lie at peace On the dear flag's mother-breast. "

"'Oh! many are the poets that are sown by Nature, '" thought theminister, quoting Wordsworth to himself. "And I wonder what becomes ofthem! That's a pretty idea, little Rebecca, and I don't know whetheryou or my wife ought to have the more praise. What made you think ofthe stars lying on the flag's 'mother-breast'? Were did you get thatword?"

"Why" (and the young poet looked rather puzzled), "that's the way itis; the flag is the whole country--the mother--and the stars are thestates. The stars had to lie somewhere: 'lap' nor 'arms' wouldn't soundwell with 'West, ' so, of course, I said 'breast, '" Rebecca answered, with some surprise at the question; and the minister put his hand underher chin and kissed her softly on the forehead when he said good-by atthe door. 

Rebecca walked rapidly along in the gathering twilight, thinking of theeventful morrow. 

As she approached the turning on the left, called the old Milltownroad, she saw a white horse and wagon, driven by a man with a rakish, flapping, Panama hat, come rapidly around the turn and disappear overthe long hills leading down to the falls. There was no mistaking him;there never was another Abner Simpson, with his lean height, his bushyreddish hair, the gay cock of his hat, and the long, piratical, upturned mustaches, which the boys used to say were used as hat-racksby the Simpson children at night. The old Milltown road ran past Mrs. Fogg's house, so he must have left Clara Belle there, and Rebecca'sheart glowed to think that her poor little friend need not miss theraising. 

She began to run now, fearful of being late for supper, and covered theground to the falls in a brief time. As she crossed the bridge sheagain saw Abner Simpson's team, drawn up at the watering-trough. 

Coming a little nearer with the view of inquiring for the family, herquick eye caught sight of something unexpected. A gust of wind blew upa corner of a linen lap-robe in the back of the wagon, and underneathit she distinctly saw the white-sheeted bundle that held the flag; thebundle with a tiny, tiny spot of red bunting peeping out at one corner. It is true she had eaten, slept, dreamed red, white, and blue forweeks, but there was no mistaking the evidence of her senses; theidolized flag, longed for, worked for, sewed for, that flag was in theback of Abner Simpson's wagon, and if so, what would become of theraising?

Acting on blind impulse, she ran toward the watering-trough, callingout in her clear treble "Mr. Simpson! Oh, Mr. Simpson, will you let meride a little way with you and hear all about Clara Belle? I'm goingover to the Centre on an errand. " (So she was; a most importanterrand, --to recover the flag of her country at present in the hands ofthe foe!)

Mr. Simpson turned round in his seat and cried heartily, "Certain sureI will!" for he liked the fair sex, young and old, and Rebecca hadalways been a prime favorite with him. "Climb right in! How'severybody? Glad to see you! The folks talk 'bout you from sun-up tosun-down, and Clara Belle can't hardly wait for a sight of you!"

Rebecca scrambled up, trembling and pale with excitement. She did notin the least know what was going to happen, but she was sure that theflag, when in the enemy's country, must be at least a little safer withthe State of Maine sitting on top of it! Mr. Simpson began a longmonologue about Acreville, the house he lived in, the pond in front ofit, Mrs. Simpson's health and various items of news about the children, varied by reports of his personal misfortunes. He put no questions, andasked no replies, so this gave the inexperienced soldier a few secondsto plan a campaign. There were three houses to pass; the Browns' at thecorner, the Millikens', and the Robinsons' on the brow of the hill. IfMr. Robinson were in the front yard she might tell Mr. Simpson shewanted to call there and ask Mr. Robinson to hold the horse's headwhile she got out of the wagon. Then she might fly to the back beforeMr. Simpson could realize the situation, and dragging out the preciousbundle, sit on it hard, while Mr. Robinson settled the matter ofownership with Mr. Simpson. 

This was feasible, but it meant a quarrel between the two men, who heldan ancient grudge against each other, and Mr. Simpson was a valiantfighter, as the various sheriffs who had attempted to arrest him couldcordially testify. It also meant that everybody in the village wouldhear of the incident and poor Clara Belle be branded again as the childof a thief. 

Another idea danced into her excited brain; such a clever one she couldhardly believe it hers. She might call Mr. Robinson to the wagon, andwhen he came close to the wheels she might say, suddenly: "Please takethe flag out of the back of the wagon, Mr. Robinson. We have brought ithere for you to keep overnight. " Then Mr. Simpson might be so surprisedthat he would give up his prize rather than be suspected of stealing. 

But as they neared the Robinsons' house there was not a sign of life tobe seen; so the last plan, ingenious though it was, was perforceabandoned. 

The road now lay between thick pine woods with no dwelling in sight. Itwas growing dusk and Rebecca was driving along the lonely way with aperson who was generally called Slippery Simpson. 

Not a thought of fear crossed her mind, save the fear of bungling inher diplomacy, and so losing the flag. She knew Mr. Simpson well, and apleasanter man was seldom to be met. She recalled an afternoon when hecame home and surprised the whole school playing the Revolutionary Warin his helter-skelter dooryard, and the way in which he had joined theBritish forces and impersonated General Burgoyne had greatly endearedhim to her. The only difficulty was to find proper words for herdelicate mission, for, of course, if Mr. Simpson's anger were aroused, he would politely push her out of the wagon and drive away with theflag. Perhaps if she led the conversation in the right direction anopportunity would present itself. Clearing her throat nervously, shebegan:--

"Is it likely to be fair to-morrow?"

"Guess so; clear as a bell. What's on foot; a picnic?"

"No; we're to have a grand flag-raising!" ("That is, " she thought, "ifwe have any flag to raise!")

"That so? Where?"

"The three villages are to club together and have a rally, and raisethe flag at the Centre. There'll be a brass band, and speakers, and theMayor of Portland, and the man that will be governor if he's elected, and a dinner in the Grange Hall, and we girls are chosen to raise theflag. "

"I want to know! That'll be grand, won't it?" (Still not a sign ofconsciousness on the part of Abner. )

"I hope Mrs. Fogg will take Clara Belle, for it will be splendid tolook at! Mr. Cobb is going to be Uncle Sam and drive us on the stage. Miss Dearborn--Clara Belle's old teacher, you know is going to beColumbia; the girls will be the States of the Union, and oh, Mr. Simpson, I am the one to be the State of Maine!" Mr. Simpson flourishedthe whipstock and gave a loud, hearty laugh. Then he turned in his seatand regarded Rebecca curiously. 

"You're kind o' small, ain't ye, for so big a state as this one?" heasked. 

"Any of us would be too small, " replied Rebecca with dignity, "but thecommittee asked me, and I am going to try hard to do well. "

The tragic thought that there might be no occasion for anybody to doanything, well or ill, suddenly overcame her here, and putting her handon Mr. Simpson's sleeve, she attacked the subject practically andcourageously. 

"Oh, Mr. Simpson, dear Mr. Simpson, it's such a mortifying subject Ican't bear to say anything about it, but please give us back our flag!Don't, don't take it over to Acreville, Mr. Simpson! We've worked solong to make it, and it was so hard getting the money for the bunting!Wait a minute, please; don't be angry, and don't say no just yet, tillI explain more. It'll be so dreadful for everybody to get thereto-morrow morning and find no flag to raise, and the band and the mayorall disappointed, and the children crying, with their muslin dressesall bought for nothing! Oh, dear Mr. Simpson, please don't take ourflag away from us!"

The apparently astonished Abner pulled his mustaches and exclaimed:"But I don't know what you're drivin' at! Who's got yer flag? I hain't!"

Could duplicity, deceit, and infamy go any further, Rebecca wondered, and her soul filling with righteous wrath, she cast discretion to thewinds and spoke a little more plainly, bending her great swimming eyeson the now embarrassed Abner, who looked like an angle-worm wrigglingon a pin. 

"Mr. Simpson, how can you say that, when I saw the flag in the back ofyour wagon myself, when you stopped to water the horse? It's wicked ofyou to take it, and I cannot bear it!" Her voice broke now, for a doubtof Mr. Simpson's yielding suddenly darkened her mind. "If you keep it, you'll have to keep me, for I won't be parted from it! I can't fightlike the boys, but I can pinch and scratch, and I will scratch, justlike a panther--I'll lie right down on my star and not move, if Istarve to death!" "Look here, hold your hosses 'n' don't cry till yougit something to cry for!" grumbled the outraged Abner, to whom a cluehad just come; and leaning over the wagon-back he caught hold of acorner of white sheet and dragged up the bundle, scooping off Rebecca'shat in the process, and almost burying her in bunting. 

She caught the treasure passionately to her heart and stifled her sobsin it, while Abner exclaimed "I declare to man, if that hain't a flag!Well, in that case you're good 'n' welcome to it! Land! I seen thatbundle lyin' in the middle o' the road and I says to myself, that'ssomebody's washin' and I'd better pick it up and leave it at thepost-office to be claimed; 'n' all the time it was a flag!"

This was a Simpsonian version of the matter, the fact being that awhite-covered bundle lying on the Meserves' front steps had attractedhis practiced eye, and slipping in at the open gate he had swiftly anddeftly removed it to his wagon on general principles; thinking if itwere clean clothes it would be extremely useful, and in any event therewas no good in passing by something flung into one's very arms, so tospeak. He had had no leisure to examine the bundle, and indeed tooklittle interest in it. Probably he stole it simply from force of habit, and because there was nothing else in sight to steal, everybody'spremises being preternaturally tidy and empty, almost as if his visithad been expected! Rebecca was a practical child, and it seemed to heralmost impossible that so heavy a bundle should fall out of Mrs. Meserve's buggy and not be noticed; but she hoped that Mr. Simpson wastelling the truth, and she was too glad and grateful to doubt any oneat the moment. 

"Thank you, thank you ever so much, Mr. Simpson. You're the nicest, kindest, politest man I ever knew, and the girls will be so pleased yougave us back the flag, and so will the Dorcas Society; they'll be sureto write you a letter of thanks; they always do. "

"Tell 'em not to bother 'bout any thanks, " said Simpson, beamingvirtuously. "But land! I'm glad 't was me that happened to see thatbundle in the road and take the trouble to pick it up. "

("Jest to think of it's bein' a flag!" he thought; "if ever there was apesky, wuthless thing to trade off, 't would be a great, gormin' flaglike that!")

"Can I get out now, please?" asked Rebecca. "I want to go back, forMrs. Meserve will be dreadfully nervous when she finds out she droppedthe flag, and it hurts her health to be nervous. "

"No, you don't, " objected Mr. Simpson gallantly, turning the horse. "Doyou think I'd let a little creeter like you lug that great heavybundle? I hain't got time to go back to Meserve's, but I'll take you tothe corner and dump you there, flag'n' all, and you can get some o' themen-folks to carry it the rest o' the way. You'll wear it out, huggin'it so!"

"I helped make it and I adore it!" said Rebecca, who was in agrandiloquent mood. "Why don't you like it? It's your country's flag. "

Simpson smiled an indulgent smile and looked a trifle bored at theseappeals to his extremely rusty better feelings. "I don' know's I've gotany particular int'rest in the country, " he remarked languidly. "I knowI don't owe nothin' to it, nor own nothin' in it!"

"You own a star on the flag, same as everybody, " argued Rebecca, whohad been feeding on patriotism for a month; "and you own a state, too, like all the rest of us!"

"Land! I wish't I did! or even a quarter section of one!" sighed Mr. Simpson, feeling somehow a little more poverty-stricken and discouragedthan usual. 

As they approached the corner and the watering-trough where fourcross-roads met, the whole neighborhood seemed to be in evidence, andMr. Simpson suddenly regretted his chivalrous escort of Rebecca;especially when, as he neared the group, an excited lady, wringing herhands, turned out to be Mrs. Peter Meserve, accompanied by Huldah, theBrowns, Mrs. Milliken, Abijah Flagg, and Miss Dearborn. "Do you knowanything about the new flag, Rebecca?" shrieked Mrs. Meserve, tooagitated, for a moment, to notice the child's companion. 

"It's right here in my lap, all safe, " responded Rebecca joyously. 

"You careless, meddlesome young one, to take it off my steps where Ileft it just long enough to go round to the back and hunt up mydoor-key! You've given me a fit of sickness with my weak heart, andwhat business was it of yours? I believe you think you own the flag!Hand it over to me this minute!"

Rebecca was climbing down during this torrent of language, but as sheturned she flashed one look of knowledge at the false Simpson, a lookthat went through him from head to foot, as if it were carried byelectricity. 

He saw that he had not deceived her after all, owing to the angrychatter of Mrs. Meserve. He had been handcuffed twice in his life, butno sheriff had ever discomfited him so thoroughly as this child. Furymounted to his brain, and as soon as she was safely out from betweenthe wheels he stood up in the wagon and flung the flag out in the roadin the midst of the excited group. 

"Take it, you pious, stingy, scandal-talkin', flag-raisin' crew!" heroared. "Rebecca never took the flag; I found it in the road, I say!"

"You never, no such a thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Meserve. "You found it onthe doorsteps in my garden!"

"Mebbe 't was your garden, but it was so chock full o' weeds I thought't was the road, " retorted Abner. "I vow I wouldn't 'a' given the oldrag back to one o' you, not if you begged me on your knees! ButRebecca's a friend o' my folks and can do with her flag's she's a mindto, and the rest o' ye can do what ye like an' go where ye like, forall I care!"

So saying, he made a sharp turn, gave the gaunt white horse a lash anddisappeared in a cloud of dust, before the astonished Mr. Brown, theonly man in the party, had a thought of detaining him. 

"I'm sorry I spoke so quick, Rebecca, " said Mrs. Meserve, greatlymortified at the situation. "But don't you believe a word that lyin'critter said! He did steal it off my doorstep, and how did you come tobe ridin' and consortin' with him? I believe it would kill your AuntMiranda if she should hear about it!"

The little school-teacher put a sheltering arm round Rebecca as Mr. Brown picked up the flag and dusted and folded it. 

"I'm willing she should hear about it, " Rebecca answered. "I didn't doanything to be ashamed of! I saw the flag in the back of Mr. Simpson'swagon and I just followed it. There weren't any men or any Dorcasladies to take care of it so it fell to me! You would n't have had melet it out of my sight, would you, and we going to raise it to-morrowmorning?"

"Rebecca's perfectly right, Mrs. Meserve!" said Miss Dearborn proudly. "And it's lucky there was somebody quick-witted enough to 'ride andconsort' with Mr. Simpson! I don't know what the village will think, but seems to me the town clerk might write down in his book, 'This daythe State of Maine saved the flag!'"

V. 

THE STATE O' MAINE GIRL

THE foregoing episode, if narrated in a romance, would undoubtedly havebeen called "The Saving of the Colors, " but at the nightly chats inWatson's store it was alluded to as the way little Becky Randall gotthe flag away from Slippery Simpson. Dramatic as it was, it passed intothe crowd of half-forgotten things in Rebecca's mind, its briefimportance submerged in the glories of the next day. 

There was a painful prelude to these glories. Alice Robinson came tospend the night with Rebecca, and when the bedroom door closed upon thetwo girls, Alice announced her intention of "doing up" Rebecca's fronthair in leads and rags, and braiding the back in six tight, wettedbraids. 

Rebecca demurred. Alice persisted. 

"Your hair is so long and thick and dark and straight, " she said, "thatyou'll look like an Injun!"

"I am the State of Maine; it all belonged to the Indians once, " Rebeccaremarked gloomily, for she was curiously shy about discussing herpersonal appearance. 

"And your wreath of little pine-cones won't set decent without crimps, "continued Alice. 

Rebecca glanced in the cracked looking-glass and met what sheconsidered an accusing lack of beauty, a sight that always eithersaddened or enraged her according to circumstances; then she sat downresignedly and began to help Alice in the philanthropic work of makingthe State of Maine fit to be seen at the raising. 

Neither of the girls was an expert hairdresser, and at the end of anhour, when the sixth braid was tied, and Rebecca had given one lastshuddering look in the mirror, both were ready to weep with fatigue. 

The candle was blown out and Alice soon went to sleep, but Rebeccatossed on her pillow, its goose-feathered softness all dented by thecruel lead knobs and the knots of twisted rags. She slipped out of bedand walked to and fro, holding her aching head with both hands. Finallyshe leaned on the window-sill, watching the still weather-vane onAlice's barn and breathing in the fragrance of the ripening apples, until her restlessness subsided under the clear starry beauty of thenight. 

At six in the morning the girls were out of bed, for Alice could hardlywait until Rebecca's hair was taken down, she was so eager to see theresult of her labors. 

The leads and rags were painfully removed, together with much hair, theoperation being punctuated by a series of squeaks, squeals, and shriekson the part of Rebecca and a series of warnings from Alice, who wishedthe preliminaries to be kept secret from the aunts, that they might themore fully appreciate the radiant result. 

Then came the unbraiding, and then--dramatic moment--the "combing out;"a difficult, not to say impossible process, in which the hairs that hadresisted the earlier stages almost gave up the ghost. 

The long front strands had been wound up from various angles and byvarious methods, so that, when released, they assumed the strangest, most obstinate, most unexpected attitudes. When the comb was draggedthrough the last braid, the wild, tortured, electric hairs following, and then rebounding from it in a bristling, snarling tangle, Massachusetts gave one encompassing glance at the State o' Maine'shead, and announced her intention of going home to breakfast! Alice wasdeeply grieved at the result of her attempted beautifying, but she feltthat meeting Miss Miranda Sawyer at the morning meal would not mendmatters in the least, so slipping out of the side door, she ran upGuide-Board hill as fast as her feet could carry her. 

The State o' Maine, deserted and somewhat unnerved, sat down before theglass and attacked her hair doggedly and with set lips, working over ituntil Miss Jane called her to breakfast; then, with a boldness born ofdespair, she entered the dining-room, where her aunts were alreadyseated at table. There was a moment of silence after the grotesquefigure was fully taken in; then came a moan from Jane and a groan fromMiranda. 

"What have you done to yourself?" asked Miranda sternly. 

"Made an effort to be beautiful and failed!" jauntily replied Rebecca, but she was too miserable to keep up the fiction. "Oh, Aunt Miranda, don't scold, I'm so unhappy! Alice and I rolled up my hair to curl itfor the raising. She said it was so straight I looked like an Indian!"

"Mebbe you did, " vigorously agreed Miranda, "but 't any rate you lookedlike a Christian Injun, 'n' now you look like a heathen Injun; that'sall the difference I can see. What can we do with her, Jane, betweenthis and nine o'clock?"

"We'll all go out to the pump just as soon as we're through breakfast, "answered Jane soothingly. "We can accomplish considerable with waterand force. "

Rebecca nibbled her corn-cake, her tearful eyes cast on her plate andher chin quivering. 

"Don't you cry and red your eyes up, " chided Miranda quite kindly; "theminute you've eaten enough run up and get your brush and meet us at theback door. "

"I would n't care myself how bad I looked, " said Rebecca, "but I can'tbear to be so homely that I shame the State of Maine!"

Oh, what an hour followed this plaint! Did any aspirant for literary ordramatic honors ever pass to fame through such an antechamber ofhorrors? Did poet of the day ever have his head so maltreated? To bedipped in the rain-water tub, soused again and again; to be held underthe spout and pumped on; to be rubbed furiously with rough rollertowels; to be dried with hot flannels! And is it not well-nighincredible that at the close of such an hour the ends of the long hairshould still stand out straight, the braids having been turned up twoinches by Alice, and tied hard in that position with linen thread?

"Get out the skirt-board, Jane, " cried Miranda, to whom oppositionserved as a tonic, "and move that flat-iron on to the front o' thestove. Rebecca, set down in that low chair beside the board, and, Jane, you spread out her hair on it and cover it up with brown paper. Don'tcringe, Rebecca; the worst's over, and you've borne up real good! I'llbe careful not to pull your hair nor scorch you, and oh, how I'd liketo have Alice Robinson acrost my knee and a good slipper in my righthand! There, you're all ironed out and your Aunt Jane can put on yourwhite dress and braid your hair up again good and tight. Perhaps youwon't be the homeliest of the States, after all; but when I see youcomin' in to breakfast I said to myself: 'I guess if Maine looked likethat, it would n't never 'a' been admitted into the Union!'"

When Uncle Sam and the stagecoach drew up to the brick house with agrand swing and a flourish, the Goddess of Liberty and most of theStates were already in their places on the "harricane deck. " Words failto describe the gallant bearing of the horses, their headstalls gaylytrimmed and their harnesses dotted with little flags. The stage windowswere hung in bunting, and from within beamed Columbia, looking out fromthe bright frame as if proud of her freight of loyal children. Patriotic streamers floated from whip, from dash-board and from rumble, and the effect of the whole was something to stimulate the mostphlegmatic voter. Rebecca came out on the steps and Aunt Jane brought achair to assist in the ascent. Miss Dearborn peeped from the window, and gave a despairing look at her favorite. 

What had happened to her? Who had dressed her? Had her head been putthrough a wringing-machine? Why were her eyes red and swollen? MissDearborn determined to take her behind the trees in the pine grove andgive her some finishing touches; touches that her skillful fingersfairly itched to bestow. 

The stage started, and as the roadside pageant grew gayer and gayer, Rebecca began to brighten and look prettier, for most of herbeautifying came from within. The people, walking, driving, or standingon their doorsteps, cheered Uncle Sam's coach with its freight ofgossamer-muslined, fluttering-ribboned girls, and just behind, thegorgeously decorated haycart, driven by Abijah Flagg, bearing the jollybut inharmonious fife and drum corps. Was ever such a golden day; suchcrystal air; such mellow sunshine; such a merry Uncle Sam!

The stage drew up at an appointed spot near a pine grove, and while thecrowd was gathering, the children waited for the hour to arrive whenthey should march to the platform; the hour toward which they seemed tohave been moving since the dawn of creation. As soon as possible MissDearborn whispered to Rebecca: "Come behind the trees with me; I wantto make you prettier!"

Rebecca thought she had suffered enough from that process alreadyduring the last twelve hours, but she put out an obedient hand and thetwo withdrew. 

Now Miss Dearborn was, I fear, a very indifferent teacher. Her stock intrade was small, her principal virtues being devotion to children andability to gain their love, and a power of evolving a schoolroom orderso natural, cheery, serene, and peaceful that it gave the beholder acertain sense of being in a district heaven. She was poor inarithmetic and weak in geometry, but if you gave her a rose, a bit ofribbon, and a seven-by-nine looking-glass she could make herself aspretty as a pink in two minutes. 

Safely sheltered behind the pines, Miss Dearborn began to practicemysterious feminine arts. She flew at Rebecca's tight braids, openedthe strands and rebraided them loosely; bit and tore the red, white, and blue ribbon in two and tied the braids separately. Then withnimble fingers she pulled out little tendrils of hair behind the earsand around the nape of the neck. After a glance of acute disapprovaldirected at the stiff balloon skirt she knelt on the ground and gave astrenuous embrace to Rebecca's knees, murmuring, between her hugs, "Starch must be cheap at the brick house!"

This particular line of beauty attained, there ensued great pinchingsof ruffles; the fingers that could never hold a ferule nor snapchildren's ears being incomparable fluting-irons. Next the sash wasscornfully untied, and tightened to suggest something resembling awaist. The chastened bows that had been squat, dowdy, spiritless, weregiven tweaks, flirts, bracing little pokes and dabs, till, acknowledging a master hand, they stood up, piquant, pert, smart, alert!

Pride of bearing was now infused into the flattened lace at the neck, and a pin (removed at some sacrifice from her own toilette) was darnedin at the back to prevent any cowardly lapsing. The short white cottongloves that called attention to the tanned wrists and arms werestripped off and put in her own pocket. Then the wreath of pine-coneswas adjusted at a heretofore unimagined angle, the hair was pulledsoftly into a fluffy frame, and finally, as she met Rebecca's gratefuleyes, she gave her two approving, triumphant kisses. In a second thesensitive face lighted into happiness; pleased dimples appeared in thecheeks, the kissed mouth was as red as a rose, and the little frightthat had walked behind the pine-tree stepped out on the other sideRebecca, the lovely. 

As to the relative value of Miss Dearborn's accomplishments, thedecision must be left to the gentle reader; but though it is certainthat children should be properly grounded in mathematics, no heart offlesh could bear to hear Miss Dearborn's methods vilified who had seenher patting, pulling, squeezing Rebecca from ugliness into beauty. 

Now all was ready; the moment of fate was absolutely at hand; the fifeand drum corps led the way and the States followed; but what actuallyhappened Rebecca never knew; she lived through the hours in a wakingdream. Every little detail was a facet of light that reflectedsparkles, and among them all she was fairly dazzled. The brass bandplayed inspiring strains; the mayor spoke eloquently on great themes;the people cheered; then the rope on which so much depended was putinto the children's hands, they applied superhuman strength to theirtask, and the flag mounted, mounted, smoothly and slowly, and slowlyunwound and stretched itself until its splendid size and beauty wererevealed against the maples and pines and blue New England sky. 

Then after cheers upon cheers and after a patriotic chorus by thechurch choirs, the State of Maine mounted the platform, vaguelyconscious that she was to recite a poem, though for the life of her shecould not remember a single word. 

"Speak up loud and clear, Rebecky, " whispered Uncle Sam in the frontrow, but she could scarcely hear her own voice when, tremblingly, shebegan her first line. After that she gathered strength, and the poem"said itself, " while the dream went on. She saw her friend Adam Laddleaning against a tree; Aunt Jane and Aunt Miranda palpitating withnervousness; Clara Belle Simpson gazing cross-eyed but adoring from aseat on the side; and in the far, far distance, on the very outskirtsof the crowd, a tall man standing in a wagon--a tall, loose-jointed manwith red upturned mustaches, and a gaunt white horse whose head wasturned toward the Acreville road. 

Loud applause greeted the State of Maine, the slender little white-cladfigure standing on the mossy boulder that had been used as the centreof the platform. The sun came up from behind a great maple and shonefull on the star-spangled banner, making it more dazzling than ever, sothat its beauty drew all eyes upward. 

Abner Simpson lifted his vagrant shifting gaze to its softly flutteringfolds and its splendid massing of colors, thinking:--

"I don't know's anybody'd ought to steal a flag, the thunderin' idjutsseem to set such store by it, and what is it, anyway? Nothin' but asheet o' buntin'!'"

Nothing but a sheet of bunting? He looked curiously at the rapt facesof the mothers, their babies asleep in their arms; the parted lips andshining eyes of the white-clad girls; at Cap'n Lord, who had been inLibby Prison, and Nat Strout, who had left an arm at Bull Run; at thefriendly, jostling crowd of farmers, happy, eager, absorbed, theirthroats ready to burst with cheers. Then the breeze served, and heheard Rebecca's clear voice saying:--

 "For it's your star, my star, all the stars together, That make our country's flag so proud To float in the bright fall weather!"

"Talk about stars! She's got a couple of 'em right in her head, "thought Simpson. "If I ever seen a young one like that layin' onanybody's doorstep I'd hook her quicker'n a wink, though I've gotplenty to home, the Lord knows! And I wouldn't swap her offneither. --Spunky little creeter, too; settin' up in the wagon lookin''bout's big as a pint o' cider, but keepin' right after the flag!--Ivow I'm 'bout sick o' my job! Never with the crowd, allers jest on theoutside, 's if I wa'n't as good's they be! If it paid well, mebbe wouldn't mind, but they're so thunderin' stingy round here, they don't leaveout anything decent for you to take from 'em, yet you're reskin' yourliberty 'n' reputation jest the same!--Countin' the poor pickin's 'n'the time I lose in jail I might most's well be done with it 'n' workout by the day, as the folks want me to; I'd make 'bout's much, n' Idon' know's it would be any harder!"

He could see Rebecca stepping down from the platform, while his ownred-headed little girl stood up on her bench, waving her hat with onehand, her handkerchief with the other, and stamping with both feet. 

Now a man sitting beside the mayor rose from his chair and Abner heardhim call:--

"Three cheers for the women who made the flag!"

"Hip, hip, hurrah!"

"Three cheers for the State of Maine!"

"Hip, hip, hurrah!"

"Three cheers for the girl who saved the flag from the hands of theenemy!"

"Hip, hip, hurrah!"

It was the Edgewood minister, whose full, vibrant voice was of the sortto move a crowd. His words rang out into the clear air and were carriedfrom lip to lip. Hands clapped, feet stamped, hats swung, while theloud huzzahs might almost have wakened the echoes on old Mount Ossipee. 

The tall, loose-jointed man sat down in the wagon suddenly and took upthe reins. 

"They're gettin' a little mite personal, and I guess it's 'bout timefor you to be goin', Simpson!"

The tone was jocular, but the red mustaches drooped, and thehalf-hearted cut he gave to start the white mare on her homewardjourney showed that he was not in his usual reckless mood. 

"It's a lie!" he burst out in a vindictive undertone, as the mare swunginto her long gait. "It's a lie! I thought 't was somebody's wash! Iain't an enemy!"

While the crowd at the raising dispersed in happy family groups totheir picnics in the woods; while the Goddess of Liberty, Uncle Sam, Columbia, and the proud States lunched grandly in the Grange Hall withdistinguished guests and scarred veterans of two wars, the lonely mandrove, and drove, and drove through silent woods and dull, sleepyvillages, never alighting to replenish his wardrobe or his stock ofswapping material. 

At dusk he reached a miserable tumble-down house on the edge of a pond. 

The faithful wife with the sad mouth and the habitual look of anxietyin her faded eyes came to the door at the sound of wheels and wentdoggedly to the horse-shed to help him unharness. "You did n't expectto see me back to-night, did you?" he asked satirically; "leastwise notwith this same horse? Well, I'm here! You need n't be scairt to lookunder the wagon-seat, there ain't nothin' there, not even my supper, soI hope you're suited for once! No, I guess I ain't goin' to be an angelright away, neither. There wa'n't nothin' but flags layin' roun' loosedown Riverboro way, 'n' whatever they say, I ain't sech a hound as tosteal a flag!"

It was natural that young Riverboro should have red, white, and bluedreams on the night after the new flag was raised. A stranger thing, perhaps, is the fact that Abner Simpson should lie down on his hard bedwith the flutter of bunting before his eyes, and a whirl ofunaccustomed words in his mind. 

"For it is your star, my star, all our stars together. "

"I'm sick of goin' it alone, " he thought; "I guess I'll try the otherroad for a spell;" and with that he fell asleep.