The FlagRaising................................................................................................................................................1

Kate Douglas Wiggin ...............................................................................................................................1

I. A DIFFERENCE IN HEARTS............................................................................................................1

II. REBECCA'S POINT OF VIEW.........................................................................................................5

III. WISDOM'S WAYS...........................................................................................................................8

IV. THE SAVING OF THE COLORS ..................................................................................................13

V. THE STATE O' MAINE GIRL........................................................................................................22

"I DON'know as I cal'lated to be the makin' of any child," Miranda had said as she folded Aurelia's letter and

laid it in the light stand drawer. "I s'posed of course Aurelia would send us the one we asked for, but it's just

"You remember we said that Rebecca, or even Jenny might come, in case Hannah 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," ventured Jane; "she's had time to improve."

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

"I don' know about the privilege part; it'll be considerable work, I guess. If her mother hasn't got her on the

This depressed and depressing frame of mind had lasted until the eventful day dawned on which Rebecca was

"If she makes as much work after she comes as she has before, we might as well give up hope of ever gettin'

any rest," sighed Miranda as she hung the dish towels on the barberry bushes at the side door.

"But we should have had to clean house, Rebecca or no Rebecca," urged Jane; "and I can't see why you've

scrubbed and washed and baked as you have for that one child, nor why you've about bought out Watson's

"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 and never carin' whether they had 'em on right side out or not; I know what

they've had to live and dress on, and so do you. That child will like as not come here with a bundle o' things

borrowed from the rest o' the family. She'll have Hannah's shoes and John's undershirts and Mark's socks

most likely. I suppose she never had a thimble on her finger in her life, but she'll know the feelin' o' one

before she's been here many 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 she won'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 out more biddable than we think."

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

Miranda Sawyer had a heart, of course, but she had never used it for any other purpose than the pumping and

circulating of blood. She was just, conscientious, economical, industrious; a regular attendant at church and

Sundayschool, and a member of the State Missionary and Bible societies, but in the presence of all these

chilly virtues you longed for one warm little fault, or lacking that, one likable failing, something to make you

sure that she was thoroughly alive. She had never had any education other than that of the neighborhood

district school, for her desires and ambitions had all pointed to the management of the house, the farm, and

the dairy. Jane, on the other hand, had gone to an academy, and also to a boardingschool for young ladies;

so had Aurelia; and after all the years that had elapsed there was still a slight difference in language and in

Jane, too, had had the inestimable advantage of a sorrow; not the natural grief at the loss of her aged father

and mother, for she had been resigned to let them go; but something far deeper. She was engaged to 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 with a quiet,

friendly sort of affection, and had given her country a mild emotion of the same sort. But the strife, the

danger, the anxiety of the time, set new currents of feeling in motion. Life became something other than the

three meals a day, the round of cooking, washing, sewing, and churchgoing. Personal gossip vanished from

the village conversation. Big things took the place of trifling ones, sacred sorrows of wives and mothers,

pangs of fathers and husbands, selfdenials, sympathies, new desire to bear one another's burdens. Men and

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 life to new hopes, new fears, new purposes. Then after a year's anxiety, a year when

one never looked in the newspaper without dread and sickness of suspense, came the telegram saying that

Tom was wounded; and without so much as asking Miranda's leave, she packed her trunk and started for the

South. She was in time to hold Tom's hand through hours of pain; to show him for once the heart of a prim

New England girl when it is ablaze with love and grief; to put her arms about him so that he could have a

It carried her through weary months of nursingnursing of other soldiers for Tom's dear sake; it sent her

home a better woman; and though she had never left Riverboro in all the years that lay between, and had

grown into the counterfeit presentment of her sister and of all other thin, spare, New England spinsters, it was

something of a counterfeit, and underneath was still the faint echo of that wild heartbeat of her girlhood.

Having learned the trick of beating and loving and suffering, the poor faithful heart persisted, although it

"You're soft, Jane," said Miranda once; "you allers was soft, and you allers will be. If't wa'n't for me keeping

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

"The stage ought to be here," said Miranda, glancing nervously at the tall clock for the twentieth time. "I

guess everything's done. I've tacked up two thick towels back of her washstand and put a mat under her

slopjar; but children are awful hard on furniture. I expect we sha'n't know this house a year from now."

Jane's frame of mind was naturally depressed and timorous, having been affected by Miranda's gloomy

presages of evil to come. The only difference between the sisters in this matter was that while Miranda only

wondered how they could endure Rebecca, Jane had flashes of inspiration in which she wondered how

Rebecca would endure them. It was in one of these flashes that she ran up the back stairs to put a vase of

The stage rumbled to the side door of the brick house, and Mr. Cobb handed Rebecca out like a real lady

passenger. She alighted with great circumspection, put a bunch of flowers in her aunt Miranda's hand, and

received her salute; it could hardly be called a kiss without injuring the fair name of that commodity. "You

need n't 'a'bothered to bring flowers," remarked that gracious and tactful lady; "the garden's always full of 'em

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

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

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

"Well, goodby, Rebecca; goodday, Mirandy'n'Jane. You've got a lively little girl there. I guess she'll be a

Miss Sawyer shuddered openly at the adjective "lively" as applied to a child; her belief being that though

children might be seen, if absolutely necessary, they certainly should never be heard if she could help it.

Mr. Cobb saw that he had spoken indiscreetly, but he was too unused to argument to explain himself readily,

so he drove away, trying to think by what safer word than "lively" he might have described his interesting

"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 the flies out; it ain't fly time yet, but I want you to start right; take your 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

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

"It's my only hat," explained Rebecca. "My everyday hat was n't good enough to bring. Sister Fanny's going

"There ain't any thieves hereabouts, and if there was, I guess they wouldn't make for your sunshade; but come

along. Remember to always go up the back way; we don't use the front stairs on account o' the carpet; take

care o' the turn and don't ketch your foot; look to your right and go in. When you've washed your face and

hands and brushed your hair you can come down, and by and by we'll unpack your trunk and get you settled

Rebecca drew her chin down and looked at the row of smoked pearl buttons running up and down the middle

of her flat little chest. "Hind side foremost? Oh, I see! No, that's all right. If you have seven children you can't

keep buttonin' and unbuttonin' 'em all the timethey have to do themselves. We're always buttoned up in

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

Rebecca stood perfectly still in the centre of the floor and looked about her. There was a square of oilcloth in

front of each article of furniture and a drawnin rug beside the single four poster, which was covered with a

Everything was as neat as wax, but the ceilings were much higher than Rebecca was accustomed to. It was a

north room, and the window, which was 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 own at Sunnybrook Farm, nor the lack

of view, nor yet the long journey, for she was not conscious of weariness; it was not the fear of a strange

place, for she adored new places and new sensations; it was because of some curious blending of

uncomprehended emotions that Rebecca stood her beloved pink sunshade in the corner, tore off her best hat,

flung it on the bureau with the porcupine quills on the under side, and stripping down the dimity spread,

precipitated herself into the middle of the bed and 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 had

been heard of, it would never have been wasted on a child. Miss Miranda entered, and as her eye wandered

about the vacant room, it fell upon a white and tempestuous ocean of counterpane, an ocean breaking into

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

"What are you layin' on your good bed in the daytime for, messin' up the feathers, and dirtyin' the comforter

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

"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's bringin' your trunk upstairs, and I wouldn't let him see such a clutteredup room for

When Mr. Cobb had put up his horses that night he carried a kitchen chair to the side of his wife, who was

"I brought a little Randall girl down on the stage from Maplewood today, mother. She's related to the

Sawyer girls an' is goin' to live with 'em," he said, as he sat down and began to whittle. "She's Aurelia's child,

the sister that ran away with Susan Randall's son just before we come here to live."

"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' to answer her! Of all the queer children I ever come across she's the queerest. She

ain't no beautyher face is all eyes; but if she ever grows up to them eyes an' fills out a little she'll make

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

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

"Blamed if I can repeat any of it. She kept me so surprised I didn't have my wits about me. She had a little

pink sunshadeit kind o' looked like a doll's umberella, 'n' she clung to it like a burr to a woolen stockin'. I

advised her to open it upthe sun was so hot; but she said no, 't would fade, an' she tucked it under her

dress. 'It's the 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 the dearest thing in life to me, but it's an awful care!'"here Mr.Cobb laughed

aloud as he tipped his chair back against the side of the house. "There was another thing, but I can't get it

right exactly. She was talkin' 'bout the circus parade an' the snake charmer in a gold chariot, 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

be comin' over to see you, mother, an' you can size her up for yourself, I don' know how she'll git on with

This doubt was more or less openly expressed in Riverboro, which, however, had two opinions on the

subject; one that it was a most generous thing in the Sawyer girls to take one of Aurelia's children to educate,

the other that the education would be bought at a price wholly out of proportion to its real value. Rebecca's

first letters to her mother would seem to indicate that she cordially coincided with the latter view of the

P.S. again. I made the poetry like a piece in a book but could not get it right at first. You see "tomb" and

"good" do not sound well together but I wanted to say "tomb" dreadfully and as serrafim are always good I

could n't take that out. I have made it over now. It does not say my thoughts as well but think it is more right.

Give the best one to John as he keeps them in a box with his bird's eggs. This is the best one.

DEAR MOTHER,I am thrilling with unhappyness this morning. I got that out of a book called Cora The

Doctor's Wife. Cora's husband's mother was very cross and unfeeling to her like Aunt M. to me. I wish

Hannah had come instead of me for it was Hannah that Aunt M. wanted and she is better than I am and does

not answer back so quick. Are there any peaces of my buff calico. Aunt J. wants enough to make a new

waste, button behind, so I wont look so outlandish. The stiles are quite pretty in Riverboro and those at

School is pretty good. The Teacher can answer more questions than the Temperance one but not so many as I

can ask. I am smarter than all the girls but one but not so smart as two boys. Emma Jane can add and subtract

in her head like a streek of lightning and knows the speling book right through but has no thoughts of any

kind. She is in the Third Reader but does not like stories in books. I am in the Sixth Reader but just because I

cannot say the seven multiplication Table Miss Dearborn threttens to put me in the baby primer class with

I am going to try for the speling prize but fear I cannot get it. I would not care but wrong speling looks

Last Sunday when I found seraphim in the dictionary I was ashamed I had made it serrafim but seraphim is

not a word you can guess at like another long one, outlandish, in this letter which spells itself. Miss Dearborn

says use the words you can spell and if you cant spell seraphim make angel do but angels are not just the

same as seraphims. Seraphims are brighter whiter and have bigger wings and I think are older and longer

dead than angels which are just freshly dead and after a long time in heaven around the great white throne

I sew on brown gingham dresses every afternoon when Emma Jane and the Simpsons are playing house or

running on the Logs when their mothers do not know it. Their mothers are afraid they will drown and aunt M.

is afraid I will wet my clothes so will not let me either. I can play from half past four to supper and after

supper a little bit and Saturday afternoons. I am glad our cow has a calf and it is spotted. It is going to be a

good year for apples and hay so you and John will be glad and we can pay a little more morgage. Miss

Dearborn asked us what is the object of edducation and I said the object of mine was to help pay off the

morgage. She told Aunt M. and I had to sew extra for punishment because she says a morgage is disgrace like

stealing or smallpox and it will be all over town that we have one on our farm. Emma Jane is not morgaged

DEAR JOHN,YOU remember when we tide the new dog in the barn how he bit the rope and howled. I am

just like him only the brick house is the barn and I can not bite Aunt M. because I must be grateful and

edducation is going to be the making of me and help you pay off the mortgage when we grow up.

THE day of Rebecca's arrival had been Friday, and on the Monday following she began her education at the

school which was in Riverboro Centre, about a mile distant. Miss Sawyer borrowed a neighbor's horse and

wagon and drove her to the schoolhouse, interviewing the teacher, Miss Dearborn, arranging for books, and

generally starting the child on the path that was to lead to boundless knowledge.

Rebecca walked to school after the first morning. She loved this part of the day's programme. When the dew

was not too heavy and the weather was fair there was a short cut through the woods. She turned off the main

road, crept through Joshua Woodman's bars, waved away Mrs. Carter's cows, trod the short grass of the

pasture, with its wellworn path running through gardens of buttercups and whiteweed, and groves of

boxberry leaves and sweet fern. She descended a little hill, jumped from stone to stone across a woodland

brook, startling the drowsy frogs, who were always winking and blinking in the morning sun. Then came the

"woodsy bit," with her feet pressing the slippery carpet of brown pine needles; the woodsy bit so full of dewy

morning surprises, fungous growths of brilliant orange and crimson springing up around the stumps of

dead trees, beautiful things born in a single night; and now and then the miracle of a little clump of waxen

Indian pipes, seen just quickly enough to be saved from her careless tread. Then she climbed a stile, went

through a grassy meadow, slid under another pair of bars, and came out into the road again, having gained

How delicious it all was! Rebecca clasped her Quackenbos's Grammar and Greenleaf's Arithmetic with a

joyful sense of knowing her lessons. Her dinner pail swung from her right hand, and she had a blissful

consciousness of the two soda biscuits spread with butter and syrup, the baked cupcustard, the doughnut,

and the square of hard gingerbread. Sometimes she said whatever "piece" she was going to speak on the next

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

How she loved the swing and the sentiment of it! How her young voice quivered 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

Another early favorite (for we must remember that Rebecca's only knowledge of the great world of poetry

When Emma Jane Perkins walked through the "short cut" with her, the two children used to render this with

appropriate dramatic action. Emma Jane always chose to be the woodman because she had nothing to do but

raise on high an imaginary axe. On the one occasion when she essayed the part of the tree's romantic

protector, she represented herself as feeling "so awful foolish" that she refused to undertake it again, much to

the secret delight of Rebecca, who found the woodman's role much too tame for her vaulting ambition. She

reveled in the impassioned appeal of the poet, and implored the ruthless woodman to be as brutal as possible

with the axe, so that she might properly put greater spirit into her lines. One morning, feeling more frisky

than usual, she fell upon her knees and wept in the woodman's petticoat. Curiously enough, her sense of

"That wasn't right, it was silly, Emma Jane; but I'll tell you where it might come inin 'Give me Three

Grains of Corn.' You be the mother, and I'll be the famishing Irish child. For pity's sake put the axe down;

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 a motherthat's all. What does your mother do

This sort of thing made Emma Jane nervous and fidgety, but she was Rebecca's slave and obeyed her lightest

commands. At the last pair of bars the two girls were sometimes met by a detachment of the Simpson

children, who lived in a black house with a red door and a red barn behind, on the Blueberry Plains road.

Rebecca felt an interest in the Simpsons from the first, because there were so many of them and they were so

The little schoolhouse with its flagpole on top and its two doors in front, one for boys and the other for girls,

stood on the crest of a hill, with rolling fields and meadows on one side, a stretch of pine woods on the other,

and the river glinting and sparkling in the distance. It boasted no attractions within. All was as bare and ugly

and uncomfortable as it well could be, for the villages along the river expended so much money in repairing

and rebuilding bridges that they were obliged to be very economical in school privileges. The teacher's desk

and chair stood on a platform in one corner; there was an uncouth stove, never blackened oftener than once a

year, a map of the United States, two blackboards, a tenquart tin pail of water and long handled dipper on a

corner shelf, and wooden desks and benches for the scholars, who only numbered twenty in Rebecca's time.

The seats were higher in the back of the room, and the more advanced and longerlegged pupils sat there, the

position being greatly to be envied, as they were at 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

Rebecca in particular was so difficult to classify that Miss Dearborn at the end of a fortnight gave up the

attempt altogether. She read with Dick Carter and Living Perkins, who were fitting for the academy; recited

arithmetic with lisping little "Thuthan Thimpthon;" geography with Emma Jane Perkins, and grammar after

school hours to Miss Dearborn alone. Full to the brim as she was of clever thoughts and quaint fancies, she

made at first but a poor hand at composition. The labor of writing and spelling, with the added difficulties of

She took history with Alice Robinson's class, which was attacking the subject of the Revolution, while

Rebecca was bidden to begin with the discovery of America. In a week she had mastered the course of events

up to the Revolution, and in ten days had arrived at Yorktown, where the class had apparently established

summer quarters. Then finding that extra effort would only result in her reciting with the oldest Simpson boy,

she deliberately held herself back, for wisdom's ways were not those of pleasantness nor her paths those of

peace if one were compelled to tread them in the company of Seesaw Simpson. Samuel Simpson was

generally called Seesaw, because of his difficulty in making up his mind. Whether it were a question of fact,

of spelling, or of date, of going swimming or fishing, of choosing a book in the Sundayschool library or a

stick of candy at the village store, he had no sooner determined on one plan of action than his wish fondly

reverted to the opposite one. Seesaw was pale, flaxen haired, blue eyed, round shouldered, and given to

stammering when nervous. Perhaps because of his very weakness, Rebecca's decision of character had a

fascination for him, and although she snubbed him to the verge of madness, he could never keep his eyes

away from her. The force with which she tied her shoe when the lacing came undone, the flirt over shoulder

she gave her black braid when she was excited or warm, her manner of studying,book on desk, arms

folded, eyes fixed on the opposite wall,all had an abiding charm for Seesaw Simpson. When, having

obtained permission, she walked 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 and intimacy in drinking next, but there was the fearful joy of meeting her in transit and receiving

On a certain warm day in summer Rebecca's thirst exceeded the bounds of propriety. When she asked a third

time for permission to quench it at the common fountain Miss Dearborn nodded "yes," but lifted her

eyebrows unpleasantly as Rebecca neared the desk. As she replaced the dipper Seesaw promptly raised his

There seemed nothing humorous about this reply, which was merely the statement of a fact, but an

irrepressible titter ran through the school. Miss Dearborn did not enjoy jokes neither made nor understood by

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

Rebecca's heart fluttered. She to stand in the corner by the water pail and be stared at by all the scholars! She

unconsciously made a gesture of angry dissent and moved a step nearer her seat, but was arrested by Miss

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

"Don't touch the dipper, please. The school has done nothing but drink all day; it has had no time whatever to

"It is a vvery thirsty mmorning," remarked Samuel, looking at Rebecca while 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 a thing to be endured. The punishment was bad enough, but to be coupled in

Singing was the last exercise in the afternoon, and Minnie Smellie chose "Shall we Gather at the River?" It

was a curious choice and seemed to hold some secret association with the situation and general progress of

events; or at any rate there was apparently some obscure reason for the energy and vim with which the

scholars looked at the empty water pail as they shouted the choral invitation again and again:

Miss Dearborn stole a look at Rebecca's bent head, and was frightened. The cbild'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 the hand

"You may go to your seat, Rebecca," said Miss Dearborn at the end of the 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 the pail only to

break up this habit of incessant drinking, which is nothing but emptymindedness and desire to walk to and

fro over the floor. Every time Rebecca has asked for a drink today the whole school has gone to the pail like

a regiment. She is really thirsty, and I dare say I ought to have punished you for following her example, not

"Think of something dry, Alice, and change the subject. Yes, 'The Star Spangled Banner' if you like, or

Rebecca sank into her seat and pulled the singing book from her desk. Miss Dearborn's public explanation

had shifted some of the weight from her heart, and she felt a trifle raised in her self esteem.

Under cover of the general relaxation of singing, offerings of respectful sympathy began to make their

appearance at her shrine. Living Perkins, who could not sing, dropped a piece of maple sugar in her lap as he

passed her on his way to the blackboard to draw the map of Maine, while Alice Robinson rolled a perfectly

Altogether existence grew brighter, and when she was left alone with the teacher for her grammar lesson she

had nearly recovered her equanimity, which was more than Miss Dearborn had. The last clattering foot had

echoed through the hall, Seesaw's backward glance of penitence had been met and answered defiantly by one

"Rebecca, I am afraid I punished you more than I meant," said Miss Dearborn, who was only eighteen

herself, and in her year of teaching country 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

"You started all the others, or it seemed as if you did. Whatever you do they all do, whether you laugh, or

"Sam Simpson is a copycoat!" stormed Rebecca. "I would n't have minded standing in the corner alonethat

"I saw that you could n't, and that's the reason I told you to take your seat, and left him in the corner.

Remember that you are a stranger in the place, and they take more notice of what you do, so you must be

careful. Now let's have our conjugations. Give me the verb 'to be,' potential mood, past perfect tense."

"'He' or 'she' might have been glad because they are masculine and feminine, but could 'it' have been glad?"

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

"Yees," Miss Dearborn answered hesitatingly, never very sure of herself under Rebecca's fire; "but though

we often speak of a baby, a chicken, or a kitten as 'it,' they are really masculine or feminine gender, not

"Well, could n't we say, 'The hollyhock might have been glad to see it rain, but there was a weak little baby

bud growing out of its stalk and it was afraid it might be hurt by the storm; so the big hollyhock was kind of

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

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

"Oh, it is the saddest tense," sighed Rebecca with a little a little break in her voice; "nothing but ifs, ifs, ifs!

And it makes you feel that if they only had known, things might have been better!"

Miss Dearborn had not thought of it before, but on reflection she believed the subjective mood was a "sad"

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

"If I had not eaten salt mackerel for breakfast I should not have been thirsty," 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 the

corner. If Samuel had not loved wickedness he would not have followed me to the water pail."

"And if Rebecca had loved the rules of the school she would have controlled her thirst," finished Miss

EVEN when Rebecca had left school, having attained the great age of seventeen and therefore able to look

back over a past incredibly long and full, she still reckoned time not by years, but by certain important

occurrences. Between these epochmaking events certain other happenings stood out in bold relief against

the gray of dull daily life. There was the coming of the new minister, for though many were tried only one

was chosen; and finally there was the flagraising, a festivity that thrilled Riverboro and Edgewood society

from centre to circumference, a festivity that took place just before she entered the Female Seminary at

There must have been other flagraisings in history,even the persons most interested in this particular one

would grudgingly have allowed that much,but it would have seemed to them improb able that any such

flagraising, as theirs could twice glorify the same century. Of some pageants it is tacitly admitted that there

can be no duplicates, and the flagraising at Riverboro Centre was one of these; so that it is small wonder if

Rebecca chose it as one of the important dates in her personal 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 Dorcas Society, proposing that the women should cut and make it

"It may not be quite as good as those manufactured in the large cities," she said, " but we shall be proud to

see our homemade flag flying in the breeze, and it will mean all the more to the young voters growing up, to

"How would it do to let some of the girls help?" modestly asked Miss Dearborn, the Riverboro teacher. "We

might chose the best sewers and let them put in at least a few stitches, so that they can feel they have a share

"Just the thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Baxter. "We can cut the stripes and sew them together, and after we have

basted on the white stars the girls can apply them to the blue ground. We must have it ready for the campaign

rally, and we could n't christen it at a better time than in this presidential year."

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

The boys, as future voters and soldiers, demanded an active share in the proceedings, and were organized by

Squire Bean into a fife and drum corps, so that by day and night martial but most inharmonious music woke

the echoes, and deafened mothers felt their patriotism oozing out at the soles of their shoes. Dick Carter was

made captain, for his grandfather had a gold medal given him by Queen Victoria for rescuing three hundred

and twentysix passengers from a sinking British vessel. Riverboro thought it high time to pay some graceful

tribute to Great Britain in return for her handsome, conduct to Captain Nahum Carter, and human imagination

could contrive nothing more impressive than a vicarious share in the flagraising.

Miss Dearborn was to be Columbia and the older girls of the two schools were to be the States. Such trade in

muslins and red, white, and blue ribbons had never been known since "Watson kep' store," and the number of

brief white petticoats hanging out to bleach would leave caused the passing stranger to imagine Riverboro a

Juvenile virtue, both male and female, reached an almost impossible height, for parents had only to lift a

finger and say, "You shan't go to the flagraising!" and the refractory spirit at once armed itself for new

Mr. Jeremiah Cobb had consented to impersonate Uncle Sam, and was to drive Columbia and the States to

the "raising" on the top of his own stage. Meantime the boys were drilling, the ladies were cutting and basting

and stitching, and the girls were sewing on stars; for the starry part of the spangled banner was to remain with

It was felt by one and all a fine and splendid service indeed to help in the making of the flag, and if Rebecca

was proud to be of the chosen ones, so was her Aunt Jane Sawyer, who had taught her all her delicate stitches.

On a longlookedfor afternoon in August the minister's wife drove up to the brickhouse door, and handed

out the great piece of bunting to Rebecca, who received it in her arms with as much solemnity as if it had

been a child awaiting baptismal rites. "I'm so glad!" she sighed happily. "I thought it would never come my

"You should have had it a week ago, but Huldah Meserve upset the ink bottle over her star, and we had to

baste on another one. You are the last, though, and then we shall sew the stars and stripes together, and Seth

Strout will get the top ready for hanging. Just think, it won't be many days before you children will be pulling

the rope with all your strength, the band will be playing, the men will be cheering, and the new flag will go

Rebecca's eyes fairly blazed. "Shall I 'hem on' my star, or buttonhole it?" 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 is your state, and try and have it the best of all. If everybody else is trying to do the

Rebecca's eyes spoke glad confirmation of the idea. "My star, my state! " she repeated joyously. "Oh, Mrs.

Baxter, I'll make such fine stitches you'll, think the white grew out of the blue!" The new minister's wife

looked pleased to see her spark kindle a flame in the young heart. "You can sew so much of yourself into

your star," she went on in the glad voice that made her so win some, "that when you are an old lady you can

put on your specs and find it among all the others. Goodby! Come up to the parsonage Saturday afternoon;

"Judson, help that dear little genius of a Rebecca all you can!" she said that night. "I don't know what she

may, or may not, come to, some day; I only wish she were ours! If you could have seen her clasp the flag

tight in her arms and put her cheek against it, and watched the tears of feeling start in her eyes when I told her

that her star was her state! I kept whispering to myself, "'Covet not thy neighbor's child!

Daily at four o'clock Rebecca scrubbed her hands almost to the bone, brushed her hair, and otherwise

prepared herself in body, mind, and spirit for the consecrated labor of sewing on her star. All the time that her

needle cautiously, conscientiously formed the tiny stitches she was making rhymes "in her head," her favorite

There was much discussion as to which of the girls should impersonate the State of Maine, for that was felt to

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

Minnie Smellie possessed the handsomest dress and a pair of white slippers and openwork stockings that

nearly carried the day, but she was not at all the person to select for the central figure on the platform.

Huldah Meserve was next voted upon, and the fact that if she were not chosen her father might withdraw his

subscription to the brass band fund was a matter for grave consideration. "I kind of hate to have such a

giggler for the State of Maine; let Huldah be the Goddess of Liberty," proposed Mrs. Burbank, whose

"How would Rebecca Randall do for Maine, and let her speak some of her verses?" suggested the new

minister's wife, who, could she have had her way, would have given all the prominent parts to Rebecca, from

So, beauty, fashion, and wealth having been tried and found wanting, the committee discussed the claims of

talent, and it transpired that to the awestricken Rebecca fell the chief plum in the pudding. It was a tribute to

her gifts that there was no jealousy or envy among the other girls; they readily conceded her special fitness

Her life had not been pressed down full to the brim of pleasures, and she had a sort of distrust of joy in the

bud. Not until she saw it in full radiance of bloom did she dare embrace it. She had never read any verse but

Byron, Felicia Hemans, bits of "Paradise Lost," and the selections in the school readers, but she would have

For many nights before the raising, when she went to her bed, she said to herself after she had finished her

prayers: "It can't be true that I'm chosen for the State of Maine! It just can't be true! Nobody could be good

enough, but oh, I'll try to be as good as I can! To be going to Wareham Seminary next week and to be the

The flag was to be raised on a Tuesday, and on the previous Sunday it became known to the children that

Clara Belle Simpson was coming back from Acreville, coming to live with Mrs. Fogg and take care of the

baby. Clara Belle was one of Miss Dearborn's original flock, and if she were left wholly out of the festivities

she would be the only girl of suitable age to be thus slighted; it seemed clear to the juvenile mind, therefore,

that neither she nor her descendants would ever recover from such a blow. But, under all the circumstances,

would she be allowed to join in the procession? Even Rebecca, the optimistic, feared not, and the committee

confirmed her fears by saying that Abner Simpson's daughter certainly could not take any prominent part in

When Abner Simpson, urged by the town authorities, took his wife and seven children away from Riverboro

to Acreville, just over the border in the next county, Riverboro went to bed leaving its barn and shed doors

Of most winning disposition and genial manners, Mr. Simpson had not that instinctive comprehension of

Abner was a most unusual thief, and conducted his operations with a tact and neighborly consideration none

too common in the profession. He would never steal a man's scythe in hayingtime, nor his fur laprobe in

the coldest of the winter. The picking of a lock offered no attractions to him; "he wa'n't no burglar," he would

have scornfully asserted. A strange horse and wagon hitched by the roadside was the most flagrant of his

thefts; but it was the small thingsthe hatchet or axe on the choppingblock, the tin pans sunning at the side

door, a stray garment bleaching on the grass, a hoe, rake, shovel, or a bag of early potatoesthat tempted

him most sorely; and these appealed to him not so much for their intrinsic value as because they were so

excellently adapted to "swapping." The swapping was really the enjoyable part of the procedure, the theft was

only a sad but necessary preliminary; for if Abner himself had been a man of sufficient property to carry on

his business operations independently, it is doubtful if he would have helped himself so freely to his

Riverboro regretted the loss of Mrs. Simpson, who was useful in scrubbing, cleaning, and washing, and was

thought to exercise some influence over her predatory spouse. There was a story of their early life 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 to Milltown, with the view of keeping him sober through the day. After he turned out of the

country road and approached the metropolis, it was said that he used to bury the docile lady in the load. He

would then drive on to the scales, have the weight of hay entered in the buyer's book, take his horses to the

stable for feed and water, and when a favorable opportunity offered he would assist the hot and panting Mrs.

Simpson out of the side or back of the rack, and gallantly brush the straw from her person. For this reason it

was always asserted that Abner Simpson sold his wife every time he went to Milltown, but the story was

never fully substantiated, and at all events it was the only suspected blot on meek Mrs. Simpson's personal

As for the Simpson children, they were missed chiefly as familiar fiures by the roadside; but Rebecca

honestly loved Clara Belle, notwithstanding her Aunt Miranda's opposition to the intimacy. Rebecca's curious

"Anything that's human flesh is good enough for her!" Miranda groaned to Jane. "She'll ride with the

ragsackandbottle peddler just as quick as she would with the minister; she always sets beside the

barefooted young ones at Sabbath school; and she's forever riggin' and onriggin' that dirty Simpson baby! She

It was thought very creditable to Mrs. Fogg that she sent for Clara Belle to live with her and go to school part

of the year. "She'll be useful," said Mrs. Fogg, "and she'll be out of her father's way, and so keep honest;

though she's so awful homely I've no fears for her. A girl with her red hair, freckles, and crosseyes can't fall

Mrs. Fogg requested that Clara Belle should be started on her journey from Acreville by train and come the

rest of the way by stage, and she was disturbed to receive word on Sunday that Mr. Simpson had borrowed a

horse from a new acquaintance, and would himself drive the girl from Acreville to Riverboro, a distance of

thirtyfive miles. That he would arrive in their vicinity on the very night before the flagraising was thought

by Riverboro to be a public misfortune, and several residents hastily determined to deny themselves a sight of

On Monday afternoon the children were rehearsing their songs at the meetinghouse. As Rebecca came out

on the broad wooden steps she watched Mrs. Peter Meserve's buggy out of sight, for in front, wrapped in a

cotton sheet, lay the precious flag. After a few chattering goodbyes and weather prophecies with the other

girls, she started on her homeward walk, dropping in at the parsonage to read her verses to the minister.

He welcomed her gladly as she removed her white cotton gloves (hastily slipped on outside the door, for

ceremony) and pushed back the funny hat with the yellow and black porcupine quills the hat with which

"You've heard the beginning, Mr. Baxter; now will you please tell me if you like the last verse?" she asked,

"I've only read 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 wrote a birthday poem to herself, and she made 'natal' rhyme with

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

The minister could scarcely refrain from smiling, but he controlled himself that he might lose none of

Rebecca's quaint observations. When she was perfectly at ease, unwatched and uncriticised, she was a

"The name of the poem is going to be 'My Star,'" she continued, "and Mrs. Baxter gave me all the ideas, but

somehow there's a kind of magicness when they get into poetry, don't you think so?" (Rebecca always talked

to grown people as if she were their age, or, a more subtle and truer distinction, as if they were hers.)

"Mrs. Baxter said that each star was a state, and if each state did its best we should have a splendid country.

Then once she said that we ought to be glad the war is over and the States are all at peace together; and I

thought Columbia must be glad, too, for Miss Dearborn says she's the mother of all the States. So I'm going

to have it end like this: I did n't write it, I just sewed it while I was working on my star:

"'Oh! many are the poets that are sown by Nature,'" thought the minister, quoting Wordsworth to himself.

"And I wonder what becomes of them! That's a pretty idea, little Rebecca, and I don't know whether you or

my wife ought to have the more praise. What made you think of the stars lying on the flag's 'mother breast'?

"Why" (and the young poet looked rather puzzled),"that's the way it is; the flag is the whole countrythe

motherand the stars are the states. The stars had to lie somewhere: 'lap' nor 'arms' wouldn't sound well with

'West,' so, of course, I said 'breast,'" Rebecca answered, with some surprise at the question; and the minister

put his hand under her chin and kissed her softly on the forehead when he said goodby at the door. Rebecca

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

As she approached the turning on the left, called the old Milltown road, she saw a white horse and wagon,

driven by a man with a rakish, flapping, Panama hat, come rapidly around the turn and disappear over the

long hills leading down to the falls. There was no mistaking him; there never was another Abner Simpson,

with his lean height, his bushy reddish hair, the gay cock of his hat, and the long, piratical, upturned

mustaches, which the boys used to say were used as hatracks by 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's heart glowed

She began to run now, fearful of being late for supper, and covered the ground to the falls in a brief time. As

she crossed the bridge she again saw Abner Simpson's team, drawn up at the wateringtrough.

Coming a little nearer with the view of inquiring for the family, her quick eye caught sight of something

unexpected. A gust of wind blew up a corner of a linen laprobe in the back of the wagon, and underneath it

she distinctly saw the whitesheeted bundle that held the flag; the bundle 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 for weeks, but there

was no mistaking the evidence of her senses; the idolized flag, longed for, worked for, sewed for, that flag

was in the back of Abner Simpson's wagon, and if so, what would become of the raising? Acting on blind

impulse, she ran toward the wateringtrough, calling out in her clear treble Mr.Simpson! Oh, Mr. Simpson,

will you let me ride a little way with you and hear all about Clara Belle? I'm going over to the Centre on an

errand." (So she was; a most important errand,to recover the flag of her country at present in the hands of

Mr. Simpson turned round in his seat and cried heartily, "Certain sure I will! "for he liked the fair sex, young

and old, and Rebecca had always been a prime favorite with him. "Climb right in! How's everybody? Glad to

see you! The folks talk 'bout you from sunup to sundown, and Clara Belle can't hardly wait for a sight of

Rebecca scrambled up, trembling and pale with excitement. She did not in the least know what was going to

happen, but she was sure that the flag, when in the enemy's country, must be at least a little safer with the

State of Maine sitting on top of it! Mr. Simpson began a long monologue about Acreville, the house he lived

in, the pond in front of it, Mrs. Simpson's health and various items of news about the children, varied by

reports of his personal misfortunes. He put no questions, and asked no replies, so this gave the inexperienced

soldier a few seconds to plan a campaign. There were three houses to pass; the Browns' at the corner, the

Millikens', and the Robinsons' on the brow of the hill. If Mr. Robinson were in the front yard she might tell

Mr. Simpson she wanted to call there and ask Mr. Robinson to hold the horse's head while she got out of the

wagon. Then she might fly to the back before Mr. Simpson could realize the situation, and dragging out the

precious bundle, sit on it hard, while Mr. Robinson settled the matter of ownership with Mr. Simpson.

This was feasible, but it meant a quarrel between the two men, who held an ancient grudge against each

other, and Mr. Simpson was a valiant fighter, as the various sheriffs who had attempted to arrest him could

cordially testify. It also meant that everybody in the village would hear of the incident and poor Clara Belle

Another idea danced into her excited brain; such a clever one she could hardly believe it hers. She might call

Mr. Robinson to the wagon, and when he came close to the wheels she might say, suddenly: "Please take the

flag out of the back of the wagon, Mr. Robinson. We have brought it here for you to keep overnight."

Then Mr. Simpson might be so surprised that 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 to be seen; so the last plan, ingenious

The road now lay between thick pine woods with no dwelling in sight. It was growing dusk and Rebecca was

driving along the lonely way with a person who was generally called Slippery Simpson.

Not a thought of fear crossed her mind, save the fear of bungling in her diplomacy, and so losing the flag. She

knew Mr. Simpson well, and a pleasanter man was seldom to be met. She recalled an afternoon when he

came home and surprised the whole school playing the Revolutionary War in his helterskelter dooryard, and

the way in which he had joined the British forces and impersonated General Burgoyne had greatly endeared

The only difficulty was to find proper words for her delicate mission, for, of course, if Mr. Simpson's anger

were aroused, he would politely push her out of the wagon and drive away with the flag. Perhaps if she led

the conversation in the right direction an opportunity would present itself. Clearing her throat nervously, she

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

"The three villages are to club together and have a rally, and raise the flag at the Centre. There'll be a brass

band, and speakers, and the Mayor of Portland, and the man that will be governor if he's elected, and a dinner

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

"I hope Mrs. Fogg will take Clara Belle, for it will be splendid to look at! Mr. Cobb is going to be Uncle Sam

and drive us on the stage. Miss DearbornClara Belle's old teacher, you know is going to be Columbia; 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 flourished the whipstock and gave a loud, hearty laugh. Then he turned in his seat and regarded

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

"Any of us would be too small," replied Rebecca with dignity, "but the committee asked me, and I am going

The tragic thought that there might be no occasion for anybody to do anything, well or ill, suddenly overcame

her here, and putting her hand on Mr. Simpson's sleeve, she attacked the subject practically and courageously.

"Oh, Mr. Simpson, dear Mr. Simpson, it's such a mortifying subject I can'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 so long 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, till I explain more. It'll be so dreadful for everybody to get there tomorrow morning and find

no flag to raise, and the band and the mayor all disappointed, and the children crying, with their muslin

dresses all bought for nothing! Oh, dear Mr. Simpson, please don't take our flag away from us!

The apparently astonished Abner pulled his mustaches and exclaimed: "But I don't know what you're drivin'

Could duplicity, deceit, and infamy go any further, Rebecca wondered, and her soul filling with righteous

wrath, she cast discretion to the winds and spoke a little more plainly, bending her great swimming eyes on

"Mr. Simpson, how can you say that, when I saw the flag in the back of your wagon myself, when you

stopped to water the horse? It's wicked of you to take it, and I cannot bear it! " (Her voice broke now, for a

doubt of 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 fight like the boys, but I can pinch and scratch, and I will scratch, just like a

pantherI'll lie right down on my star and not move, if I starve to death!" "Look here, hold your hosses 'n'

don't cry till you git something to cry for!" grumbled the outraged Abner, to whom a clue had just come; and

leaning over the wagonback he caught hold of a corner of white sheet and dragged up the bundle, scooping

She caught the treasure passionately to her heart and stifled her sobs in 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 that bundle lyin' in

the middle o' the road and I says to myself, that's somebody's washin' and I'd better pick it up and leave it at

This was a Simpsonian version of the matter, the fact being that a whitecovered bundle lying on the

Meserves' front steps had attracted his practiced eye, and slipping in at the open gate he had swiftly and deftly

removed it to his wagon on general principles; thinking if it were clean clothes it would be extremely useful,

and in any event there was no good in passing by something flung into one's very arms, so to speak. He had

had no leisure to examine the bundle, and indeed took little interest in it. Probably he stole it simply from

force of habit, and because there was nothing else in sight to steal, everybody's premises being preternaturally

tidy and empty, almost as if his visit had been expected! Rebecca was a practical child, and it seemed to her

almost impossible that so heavy a bundle should fall out of Mrs. Meserve's buggy and not be noticed; but she

hoped that Mr. Simpson was telling the truth, and she was too glad and grateful to doubt any one at the

"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 you gave us back the flag, and so will the Dorcas Society; they'll be sure to write

"Tell 'em not to bother 'bout any thanks," said Simpson, beaming virtuously. "But land! I'm glad 't was me

that happened to see that bundle 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 a pesky, wuthless thing to trade off, 't would be a great, gormin' flag like

"Can I get out now, please?" asked Rebecca. "I want to go back, for Mrs. Meserve will be dreadfully nervous

when she finds out she dropped the flag, and it hurts her health to be nervous." "No, you don't," objected Mr.

Simpson gallantly, turning the horse. "Do you think I'd let a little creeter like you lug that great heavy

bundle? I hain't got time to go back to Meserve's, but I'll take you to the corner and dump you there, flag'n'

all, and you can get some o' the menfolks 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 a grandiloquent mood. "Why don't you like it? It's

Simpson smiled an indulgent smile and looked a trifle bored at these appeals to his extremely rusty better

"I don' know's I've got any particular int'rest in the country," he remarked languidly. "I know I don't owe

"You own a star on the flag, same as everybody," argued Rebecca, who had been feeding on patriotism for a

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

As they approached the corner and the wateringtrough where four crossroads met, the whole neighborhood

seemed to be in evidence, and Mr. Simpson suddenly regretted his chivalrous escort of Rebecca; especially

when, as he neared the group, an excited lady, wringing her hands, turned out to be Mrs. Peter Mescrve,

accompanied by Huldah, the Browns, Mrs. Milliken, Abijah Flagg, and Miss Dearborn. "Do you know

anything about the new flag, Rebecca?" shrieked Mrs. Meserve, too agitated, for a moment, to notice the

"You careless, meddlesome young one, to take it off my steps where I left it just long enough to go round to

the back and hunt up my doorkey! You've given me a fit of sickness with my weak heart, and what 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 she turned she flashed one look of

knowledge at the false Simpson, a look that went through him from head to foot, as if it were carried by

He saw that he had not deceived her after all, owing to the angry chatter of Mrs. Meserve. He had been

handcuffed twice in his life, but no sheriff had ever discomfited him so thoroughly as this child. Fury

mounted to his brain, and as soon as she was safely out from between the wheels he stood up in the wagon

"Take it, you pious, stingy, scandaltalkin', flagraisin' crew!" he roared. "Rebecca never took the flag; I

"You never, no such a thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Meserve. "You found it on the 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 old rag back to one o' you, not if you begged me on your knees! But Rebecca's a

friend o'my folks and can do with her flag's she's a mind to, and the rest o' ye can do what ye like an' go

So saying, he made a sharp turn, gave the gaunt white horse a lash and disappeared in a cloud of dust, before

the astonished Mr. Brown, the only man in the party, had a thought of detaining him.

"I'm sorry I spoke so quick, Rebecca," said Mrs. Meserve, greatly mortified 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 to be ridin' and

consortin' with him? I believe it would kill your Aunt Miranda if she should hear about it!"

The little schoolteacher put a sheltering arm round Rebecca as Mr. Brown picked up the flag and dusted and

"I'm willing she should hear about it," Rebecca answered. "I didn't do anything to be ashamed of! I saw the

flag in the back of Mr. Simpson's wagon and I just followed it. There weren't any men or any Dorcas ladies to

take care of it so it fell to me! You would n't have had me let it out of my sight, would you, and we going to

"Rebecca's perfectly right, Mrs. Meserve!" said Miss Dearborn proudly. "And it's lucky there was somebody

quickwitted enough to 'ride and consort' 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 day the State of Maine saved the flag!'"

THE foregoing episode, if narrated in a romance, would undoubtedly have been called "The Saving of the

Colors," but at the nightly chats in Watson's store it was alluded to as the way little Becky Randall got the

flag away from Slippery Simpson. Dramatic as it was, it passed into the crowd of halfforgotten things in

There was a painful prelude to these glories. Alice Robinson came to spend the night with Rebecca, and when

the bedroom door closed upon the two girls, Alice announced her intention of "doing up" Rebecca's front hair

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

"I am the State of Maine; it all belonged to the Indians once," Rebecca remarked gloomily, for she was

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

Rebecca glanced in the cracked lookingglass and met what she considered an accusing lack of beauty, a

sight that always either saddened or enraged her according to circumstances; then she sat down resignedly

and began to help Alice in the philanthropic work of making the State of Maine fit to be seen at the raising.

Neither of the girls was an expert hairdresser, and at the end of an hour, when the sixth braid was tied, and

Rebecca had given one last shuddering look in the mirror, both were ready to weep with fatigue.

The candle was blown out and Alice soon went to sleep, but Rebecca tossed on her pillow, its

goosefeathered softness all dented by the cruel lead knobs and the knots of twisted rags. She slipped out of

bed and walked to and fro, holding her aching head with both hands. Finally she leaned on the windowsill,

watching the still weathervane on Alice's barn and breathing in the fragrance of the ripening apples, until

At six in the morning the girls were out of bed, for Alice could hardly wait until Rebecca's hair was taken

The leads and rags were painfully removed, together with much hair, the operation being punctuated by a

series of squeaks, squeals, and shrieks on the part of Rebecca and a series of warnings from Alice, who

wished the preliminaries to be kept secret from the aunts, that they might the more fully appreciate the radiant

Then came the unbraiding, and thendramatic momentthe "comb ing out;" a difficult, not to say

impossible process, in which the hairs that had resisted the earlier stages almost gave up the ghost.

The long front strands had been wound up from various angles and by various methods, so that, when

released, they assumed the strangest, most obstinate, most unexpected attitudes. When the comb was dragged

through 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's head, and announced her

intention of going home to breakfast! Alice was deeply grieved at the result of her attempted beautifying, but

she felt that meeting Miss Miranda Sawyer at the morning meal would not mend matters in the least, so

slipping out of the side door, she ran up Guide Board hill as fast as her feet could carry her.

The State o' Maine, deserted and somewhat unnerved, sat down before the glass and attacked her hair

doggedly and with set lips, working over it until Miss Jane called her to breakfast; then, with a boldness born

of despair, she entered the dining room, where her aunts were already seated at table. There was a moment

of silence after the grotesque figure was fully taken in; then came a moan from Jane and a groan from

"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 it for the

"Mebbe you did," vigorously agreed Miranda, "but 't any rate you looked like a Christian Injun, 'n' now you

look like a heathen Injun; that's all the difference I can see. What can we do with her, Jane, between this and

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

Rebecca nibbled her corncake, her tearful eyes cast on her plate and her chin quivering.

"Don't you cry and red your eyes up," chided Miranda quite kindly; "the minute you've eaten enough run up

"I would n't care myself how bad I looked," said Rebecca, "but I can't bear to be so homely that I shame the

State of Maine!" Oh, what an hour followed this plaint! Did any aspirant for literary or dramatic honors ever

pass to fame through such an antechamber of horrors? Did poet of the day ever have his head so maltreated?

To be dipped in the rainwater tub, soused again and again; to be held under the spout and pumped on; to be

rubbed furiously with rough roller towels; to be dried with hot flannels! And is it not wellnigh incredible

that at the close of such an hour the ends of the long hair should still stand out straight, the braids having been

turned up two inches by Alice, and tied hard in that position with linen thread ?

"Get out the skirtboard, Jane," cried Miranda, to whom opposition served as a tonic, "and move that

flatiron on to the front o' the stove. 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't cringe, Rebecca; the worst's over, and you've

borne up real good! I'll be careful not to pull your hair nor scorch you, and oh, how I'd like to have Alice

Robinson acrost my knee and a good slipper in my right hand! There, you're all ironed out and your Aunt

Jane can put on your white dress and braid your hair up again good and tight. Perhaps you won't be the

homeliest of the States, after all; but when I see you comin' in to breakfast I said to myself: 'I guess if Maine

When Uncle Sam and the stagecoach drew up to the brick house with a grand swing and a flourish, the

Goddess of Liberty and most of the States were already in their places on the "harricane deck." Words fail to

describe the gallant bearing of the horses, their headstalls gayly trimmed and their harnesses dotted with little

flags. The stage windows were hung in bunting, and from within beamed Columbia, looking out from the

bright frame as if proud of her freight of loyal children. Patriotic streamers floated from whip, from

dashboard and from rumble, and the effect of the whole was something to stimulate the most phlegmatic

Rebecca came out on the steps and Aunt Jane brought a chair to assist in the ascent. Miss Dearborn peeeped

What had happened to her? Who had dressed her? Had her head been put through a wringingmachine? Why

were her eyes red and swollen? Miss Dearborn determined to take her behind the trees in the pine grove and

give her some finishing touches; touches that her skillful fingers fairly 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 her beautifying came from within. The people, walking, driving, or standing on their

doorsteps, cheered Uncle Sam's coach with its freight of gossamermuslined, flutteringribboned girls, and

just behind, the gorgeously decorated haycart, driven by Abijah Flagg, bearing the jolly but inharmonious fife

and drum corps. Was ever such a golden day; such crystal air; such mellow sunshine; such a merry Uncle

The stage drew up at an appointed spot near a pine grove, and while the crowd was gathering, the children

waited for the hour to arrive when they should march to the platform; the hour toward which they seemed to

have been moving since the dawn of creation. As soon as possible Miss Dearborn whispered to Rebecca:

Rebecca thought she had suffered enough from that process already during the last twelve hours, but she put

Now Miss Dearborn was, I fear, a very indifferent teacher. Her stock in trade was small, her principal virtues

being devotion to children and ability to gain their love, and a power of evolving a schoolroom order so

natural, cheery, serene, and peaceful that it gave the beholder a certain sense of being in a district heaven. She

was poor in arithmetic and weak in geometry, but if you gave her a rose, a bit of ribbon, and a sevenbynine

Safely sheltered behind the pines, Miss Dearborn began to practice mysterious feminine arts. She flew at

Rebecca's tight braids, opened the strands and rebraided them loosely; bit and tore the red, white, and blue

ribbon in two and tied the braids separately. Then with nimble fingers she pulled out little tendrils of hair

behind the ears and around the nape of the neck. After a glance of acute disapproval directed at the stiff

balloon skirt she knelt on the ground and gave a strenuous embrace to Rebecca's knees, murmuring, between

This particular line of beauty attained, there ensued great pinchings of ruffles; the fingers that could never

hold a ferule nor snap children's ears being incomparable flutingirons. Next the sash was scornfully untied,

and tightened to suggest something resembling a waist. The chastened bows that had been squat, dowdy,

spiritless, were given tweaks, flirts, bracing little pokes and dabs, till, acknowledging a master hand, they

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 darned in at the back to prevent any cowardly lapsing. The short white cotton

gloves that called attention to the tanned wrists and arms were stripped off and put in her own pocket. Then

the wreath of pinecones was adjusted at a heretofore unimagined angle, the hair was pulled softly into a

fluffy frame, and finally, as she met Rebecca's grateful eyes, she gave her two approving, triumphant kisses.

In a second the sensitive face lighted into happiness; pleased dimples appeared in the cheeks, the kissed

mouth was as red as a rose, and the little fright that had walked behind the pinetree stepped out on the other

As to the relative value of Miss Dearborn's accomplishments, the decision must be left to the gentle reader;

but though it is certain that children should be properly grounded in mathematics, no heart of flesh could bear

to hear Miss Dearborn's methods vilified who had seen her patting, pulling, squeezing Rebecca from ugliness

Now all was ready; the moment of fate was absolutely at hand; the fife and drum corps led the way and the

States followed; but what actually happened Rebecca never knew; she lived through the hours in a waking

dream. Every little detail was a facet of light that reflected sparkles, and among them all she was fairly

dazzled. The brass band played inspiring strains; the mayor spoke eloquently on great themes; the people

cheered; then the rope on which so much depended was put into the children's hands, they applied

superhuman strength to their task, and the flag mounted, mounted, smoothly and slowly, and slowly unwound

and stretched itself until its splendid size and beauty were revealed against the maples and pines and blue

Then after cheers upon cheers and after a patriotic chorus by the church choirs, the State of Maine mounted

the platform, vaguely conscious that she was to recite a poem, though for the life of her she could not

"Speak up loud and clear, Rebecky," whispered Uncle Sam in the front row, but she could scarcely hear her

own voice when, tremblingly, she began her first line. After that she gathered strength, and the poem "said

itself," while the dream went on. She saw her friend Adam Ladd leaning against a tree; Aunt Jane and Aunt

Miranda palpitating with nervousness; Clara Belle Simpson gazing crosseyed but adoring from a seat on the

side; and in the far, far distance, on the very outskirts of the crowd, a tall man standing in a wagona tall,

loosejointed man with red upturned mustaches, and a gaunt white horse whose head was turned toward the

Loud applause greeted the State of Maine, the slender little whiteclad figure standing on the mossy boulder

that had been used as the centre of the platform. The sun came up from behind a great maple and shone full

on the starspangled banner, making it more dazzling than ever, so that its beauty drew all eyes upward.

Abner Simpson lifted his vagrant shifting gaze to its softly fluttering folds and its splendid massing of colors,

thinking: "I don't know's anybody'd ought to steal a flag, the thunderin' idjuts seem to set such store by it,

Nothing but a sheet of bunting? He looked curiously at the rapt faces of the mothers, their babies asleep in

their arms; the parted lips and shining eyes of the whiteclad girls; at Cap'n Lord, who had been in Libby

Prison, and Nat Strout, who had left an arm at Bull Run; at the friendly, jostling crowd of farmers, happy,

"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' on anybody's doorstep I'd hook her quicker'n a wink, though I've got plenty to home, the Lord

knows! And I wouldn't swap her off neither.Spunky little creeter, too; settin'up in the wagon lookin' 'bout's

big as a pint o' cider, but keepin' right after the flag!I vow I'm 'bout sick o' my job! Never with the crowd,

allers jest on the outside, 's if I wa'n't as good's they be! If it paid well, mebbe would n't mind, but they're so

thunderin' stingy round here, they don't leave out anything decent for you to take from 'em, yet you're reskin'

your liberty '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' work out by the day, as the folks want me to; I'd make 'bout's much, n' I don' know's it

He could see Rebecca stepping down from the platform, while his own redheaded little girl stood up on her

bench, waving her hat with one hand, her handkerchief with the other, and stamping with both feet.

Now a man sitting beside the mayor rose from his chair and Abner heard him call:

It was the Edgewood minister, whose full, vibrant voice was of the sort to move a crowd. His words rang out

into the clear air and were carried from lip to lip. Hands clapped, feet stamped, hats swung, while the loud

The tall, loosejointed man sat down in the wagon suddenly and took up the reins.

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

The tone was jocular, but the red mustaches drooped, and the halfhearted cut he gave to start the white mare

"It's a lie!" he burst out in a vindictive undertone, as the mare swung into her long gait. "It's a lie! I thought 't

While the crowd at the raising dispersed in happy family groups to their picnics in the woods; while the

Goddess of Liberty, Uncle Sam, Columbia, and the proud States lunched grandly in the Grange Hall with

distinguished guests and scarred veterans of two wars, the lonely man drove, and drove, and drove through

silent woods and dull, sleepy villages, never alighting to replenish his wardrobe or his stock of swapping

At dusk he reached a miserable tumbledown house on the edge of a pond. The faithful wife with the sad

mouth and the habitual look of anxiety in her faded eyes came to the door at the sound of wheels and went

"You did n't expect to see me back tonight, did you?" he asked satirically; "leastwise not with this same

horse? Well, I'm here! You need n't be scairt to look under the wagonseat, there ain't nothin' there, not even

my supper, so I hope you're suited for once! No, I guess I ain't goin' to be an angel right away, neither. There

wa'n't nothin' but flags layin' roun' loose down Riverboro way, 'n' whatever they say, I ain't sech a hound as to

It was natural that young Riverboro should have red, white, and blue dreams 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 bed with the

flutter of bunting before his eyes, and a whirl of unaccustomed 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