New Chronicles of Rebecca

by Kate Douglas Smith Wiggin

  Fifth Chronicle. THE SAVING OF THE COLORS

  I

  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 certain importantoccurrences.

  There was the year her father died; the year she left Sunnybrook Farm tocome to her aunts in Riverboro; the year Sister Hannah became engaged;the year little Mira died; the year Abijah Flagg ceased to be SquireBean's chore-boy, and astounded Riverboro by departing for LimerickAcademy in search of an education; and finally the year of hergraduation, which, to the mind of seventeen, seems rather theculmination than the beginning of existence.

  Between these epoch-making events certain other happenings stood out inbold relief against the gray of dull daily life.

  There was the day she first met her friend of friends, "Mr. Aladdin,"and the later, even more radiant one when he gave her the coralnecklace. There was the day the Simpson family moved away from Riverborounder a cloud, and she kissed Clara Belle fervently at the cross-roads,telling her that she would always be faithful. There was the visit ofthe Syrian missionaries to the brick house. That was a bright, romanticmemory, as strange and brilliant as the wonderful little birds' wingsand breasts that the strangers brought from the Far East. She rememberedthe moment they asked her to choose some for herself, and the rapturewith which she stroked the beautiful things as they lay on the blackhaircloth sofa. Then there was the coming of the new minister, forthough many were tried only one was chosen; and finally there was theflag-raising, a festivity that thrilled Riverboro and Edgewood societyfrom centre to circumference, a festivity that took place just beforeshe entered the Female Seminary at Wareham and said good-by to kind MissDearborn and the 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, either in magnitude of conception or brilliancyof actual performance, could twice glorify the same century. Of somepageants it is tacitly admitted that there can be no duplicates, and theflag-raising at Riverboro Centre was one of these; so that it is smallwonder if Rebecca chose it as one of the important dates in her personalalmanac.

  The new minister's wife was the being, under Providence, who hadconceived the germinal idea of the flag.

  At this time the parish had almost settled down to the trembling beliefthat they were united on a pastor. In the earlier time a minister waschosen for life, and if he had faults, which was a probably enoughcontingency, and if his congregation had any, which is within the boundsof possibility, each bore with the other (not quite without friction),as old-fashioned husbands and wives once did, before the easy way out ofthe difficulty was discovered, or at least before it was popularized.

  The faithful old parson had died after thirty years' preaching,and perhaps the newer methods had begun to creep in, for it seemedimpossible to suit the two communities most interested in the choice.

  The Rev. Mr. Davis, for example, was a spirited preacher, but persistedin keeping two horses in the parsonage stable, and in exchangingthem whenever he could get faster ones. As a parochial visitor he wasincomparable, dashing from house to house with such speed that he couldcover the parish in a single afternoon. This sporting tendency, whichwould never have been remarked in a British parson, was frowned upon ina New England village, and Deacon Milliken told Mr. Davis, when givinghim what he alluded to as his "walking papers," that they didn't wantthe Edgewood church run by hoss power!

  The next candidate pleased Edgewood, where morning preaching was held,but the other parish, which had afternoon service, declined to accepthim because he wore a wig--an ill-matched, crookedly applied wig.

  Number three was eloquent but given to gesticulation, and Mrs. JereBurbank, the president of the Dorcas Society, who sat in a front pew,said she couldn't bear to see a preacher scramble round the pulpit hotSundays.

  Number four, a genial, handsome man, gifted in prayer, was found to bea Democrat. The congregation was overwhelmingly Republican in itspolitics, and perceived something ludicrous, if not positivelyblasphemous, in a Democrat preaching the gospel. ("Ananias andBeelzebub'll be candidatin' here, first thing we know!" exclaimed theoutraged Republican nominee for district attorney.)

  Number five had a feeble-minded child, which the hiring committeeprophesied, would always be standing in the parsonage front yard, makingtalk for the other denominations.

  Number six was the Rev. Judson Baxter, the present incumbent; and hewas voted to be as near perfection as a minister can be in this finiteworld. His young wife had a small income of her own, a distinct andunusual advantage, and the subscription committee hoped that they mightnot be eternally driving over the country to get somebody's fifty centsthat had been over-due for eight months, but might take their onerousduties a little more easily.

  "It does seem as if our ministers were the poorest lot!" complained Mrs.Robinson. "If their salary is two months behindhand they begin to benervous! Seems as though they might lay up a little before they comehere, and not live from hand to mouth so! The Baxters seem quitedifferent, and I only hope they won't get wasteful and run into debt.They say she keeps the parlor blinds open bout half the time, and theroom is lit up so often evenin's that the neighbors think her and Mr.Baxter must set in there. It don't seem hardly as if it could be so, butMrs. Buzzell says tis, and she says we might as well say good-by to theparlor carpet, which is church property, for the Baxters are living allover it!"

  This criticism was the only discordant note in the chorus of praise, andthe people gradually grew accustomed to the open blinds and the overusedparlor carpet, which was just completing its twenty-fifth year of honestservice.

  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 large cities,"she said, "but we shall be proud to see our home-made flag flying in thebreeze, and it will mean all the more to the young voters growing up, toremember that their mothers made it with their own hands."

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

  "Just the thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Baxter. "We can cut the stripes and sewthem together, and after we have basted on the white stars the girls canapply them to the blue ground. We must have it ready for the campaignrally, and we couldn't christen it at a better time than in thispresidential year."

  II

  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 fighters, 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 music wokethe echoes, and deafened mothers felt their patriotism oozing out at thesoles of their shoes.

  Dick Carter was made captain, for his grandfather had a gold medalgiven him by Queen Victoria for rescuing three hundred and twenty-sixpassengers from a sinking British vessel. Riverboro thought it high timeto pay some graceful tribute to Great Britain in return for her handsomeconduct to Captain Nahum Carter, and human imagination could contrivenothing more impressive than a vicarious share in the flag raising.

  Living Perkins tried to be happy in the ranks, for he was offered noofficial position, principally, Mrs. Smellie observed, because "hisfather's war record wa'nt clean." "Oh, yes! Jim Perkins went to thewar," she continued. "He hid out behind the hencoop when they wasdraftin', but they found him and took him along. He got into one battle,too, somehow or nother, but he run away from it. He was allers cautious,Jim was; if he ever see trouble of any kind comin' towards him, he wasout o' sight fore it got a chan
ce to light. He said eight dollars amonth, without bounty, wouldn't pay HIM to stop bullets for. He wouldn'tfight a skeeter, Jim wouldn't, but land! we ain't to war all the time,and he's a good neighbor and a good blacksmith."

  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 have 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 itself fornew struggles toward the perfect life.

  Mr. Jeremiah Cobb had consented to impersonate Uncle Sam, and was todrive Columbia and the States to the "raising" on the top of his ownstage. Meantime the boys were drilling, the ladies were cutting andbasting and stitching, and the girls were sewing on stars; for thestarry part of the spangled banner was to remain with each of them inturn until she had performed her 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 it hadbeen 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'tbe many 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 fell 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 elseis trying 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, my state!"she repeated joyously. "Oh, Mrs. Baxter, I'll make such fine stitchesyou'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. Baxterwants to see you."

  "Judson, help that dear little genius of a Rebecca all you can!" shesaid that night, when they were cosily talking in their parlor andliving "all over" the parish carpet. "I don't know what she may, or maynot, come to, some day; I only wish she were ours! If you could haveseen 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 herthat her star was her state! I kept whispering to myself, Covet not thyneighbor'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, andspirit for the consecrated labor of sewing on her star. All the timethat her needle cautiously, conscientiously formed the tiny stitches shewas making rhymes "in her head," her favorite achievement being this:

  "Your star, my star, all our stars together, They make the dear oldbanner 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. Still, asMiss Delia Weeks well said, she was so stupid that if she shouldsuck her thumb in the very middle of the exercises nobody'd be a ditesurprised!

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

  "I kind o' hate to have such a giggler for the State of Maine; let herbe the Goddess of Liberty," proposed Mrs. Burbank, whose patriotism wasmore 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 Uncle Samdown.

  So, beauty, fashion, and wealth having been tried and found wanting, thecommittee discussed the claims of talent, and it transpired that tothe awe-stricken 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 readany verse 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 ourexpectancy; But round some corner in the streets of life They on asudden clasp us with a smile."

  For many nights before the raising, when she went to her bed she said toherself, after she had finished her prayers: "It can't be true that I'mchosen for the State of Maine! It just CAN'T be true! Nobody could begood 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!"

  III

  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, called by the neighborhood boys "the Fogg horn," on account of hisexcellent voice production.

  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,and the committee confirmed her fears by saying that Abner Simpson'sdaughter certainly could not take any prominent part in the ceremony,but they hoped that 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 border inthe next county, Riverboro went to bed leaving its barn and shed doorsunfastened, 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.

  Squire Bean was his nearest neighbor, and he conceived the novel ideaof paying Simpson five dollars a year not to steal from him, a methodoccasionally used in the Highlands in the early days.

  The bargain was struck, and adhered to religiously for a twelve-month,but on the second of January Mr. Simpson announced the verbal contractas formally broken.

  "I didn't know what I was doin' when I made it, Squire," he urged."In the first place, it's a slur on my reputation and an injury to myself-respect. Secondly,
it's a nervous strain on me; and thirdly, fivedollars don't pay me!"

  Squire Bean was so struck with the unique and convincing nature ofthese arguments that he could scarcely restrain his admiration, and heconfessed to himself afterward, that unless Simpson's mental attitudecould be changed he was perhaps a fitter subject for medical sciencethan the state prison.

  Abner was a most unusual thief, and conducted his operations with a tactand neighborly consideration none too common in the profession. He wouldnever steal a man's scythe in haying-time, nor his fur lap-robe in thecoldest of the winter. The picking of a lock offered no attractionsto him; "he wa'n't no burglar," he would have scornfully asserted. Astrange horse and wagon hitched by the roadside was the most flagrantof his thefts; but it was the small things--the hatchet or axe on thechopping-block, the tin pans sunning at the side door, a stray garmentbleaching on the grass, a hoe, rake, shovel, or a bag of early potatoes,that tempted him most sorely; and these appealed to him not so much fortheir intrinsic value as because they were so excellently adapted toswapping. The swapping was really the enjoyable part of the procedure,the theft was only a sad but necessary preliminary; for if Abnerhimself had been a man of sufficient property to carry on his businessoperations independently, it is doubtful if he would have helped himselfso 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 earlymarried life, 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 the hay entered in thebuyer's book, take his horses to the stable for feed and water, and whena favorable 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 that AbnerSimpson sold his wife every time he went to Milltown, but the story wasnever fully substantiated, and at all events it was the only suspectedblot 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"taste for low company" was a source of continual anxiety to her aunt.

  "Anything that's human flesh is good enough for her!" Miranda groaned toJane. "She'll ride with the rag-sack-and-bottle peddler just as quick asshe would with the minister; she always sets beside the St. Vitus' danceyoung one at Sabbath school; and she's forever riggin' and onriggin'that dirty Simpson baby! She reminds me of a puppy that'll always go toeverybody 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 be useful" said Mrs. Fogg, "and she'll be out of her father'sway, and so keep honest; though she's no awful hombly I've no fears forher. A girl with her red hair, freckles, and cross-eyes can't fall intono kind of sin, 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 a"good roader" from a new acquaintance, and would himself drive the girlfrom Acreville to Riverboro, a distance of thirty-five miles. That hewould arrive in their vicinity on the very night before the flag-raisingwas thought by Riverboro to be a public misfortune, and severalresidents hastily determined to deny themselves a sight of thefestivities and remain 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 she watchedMrs. Peter Meserve's buggy out of sight, for in front, wrapped in acotton sheet, lay the previous flag. After a few chattering good-bysand weather prophecies with the other girls, she started on her homewardwalk, dropping in at the parsonage to read her verses to the minister.

  He welcomed her gladly as she removed her white cotton gloves (hastilyslipped on outside the door, for ceremony) and pushed back the funny hatwith the yellow and black porcupine quills--the hat with which she madeher 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.When she was perfectly at ease, unwatched and uncriticised, she was amarvelous companion.

  "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 magicnesswhen they get into poetry, don't you think so?" (Rebecca always talkedto grown people as if she were their age, or, a more subtle and truerdistinction, 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 we oughtto be glad the war is over and the States are all at peace together; andI thought Columbia must be glad, too, for Miss Dearborn says she'sthe mother of all the States. So I'm going to have it end like this: Ididn't write it, I just sewed it while I was working on my 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 of thestars lying on the flag's mother-breast'? Where did you get that word?"

  "Why" (and the young poet looked rather puzzled), "that's the way it is;the flag is the whole country--the mother--and the stars are the states.The stars had to lie somewhere: 'LAP' nor 'ARMS' wouldn't sound wellwith West,' so, of course, I said 'BREAST,'" Rebecca answered, with somesurprise at the question; and the minister put his hand under her chinand kissed her softly on the forehead when he said good-by at the door.

  IV

  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, upturnedmustaches, which the boys used to say were used as hat-racks by theSimpson children at night.. The old Milltown road ran past Mrs. Fogg'shouse, so he must have left Clara Belle there, and Rebecca's heartglowed to think that her poor little friend need not miss the raising.

  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 she againsaw Abner Simp
son'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 for weeks,but there was no mistaking the evidence of her senses; the idolizedflag, longed for, worked for, sewed for, that flag was in the back ofAbner Simpson's wagon, and if so, what would become of the raising?

  Acting on blind impulse, she ran toward the watering-trough, calling outin her clear treble: "Mr. Simpson! Oh, Mr. Simpson, will you let me ridea piece with you and hear all about Clara Belle? I'm going part way overto the Centre on an errand." (So she was; a most important errand,--torecover the flag of her country at present in the hands of the foe!)

  Mr. Simpson turned round in his seat and cried heartily, "Certain sure Iwill!" for he liked the fair sex, young and old, and Rebecca had alwaysbeen a prime favorite with him. "Climb right in! How's everybody? Gladto see ye! The folks talk bout ye from sun-up to sun-down, and ClaraBelle can't hardly wait for a sight of ye!"

  Rebecca scrambled up, trembling and pale with excitement. She did not inthe 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 theState of Maine sitting on top of it!

  Mr. Simpson began a long monologue about Acreville, the house he livedin, the pond in front of it, Mrs. Simpson's health, and various items ofnews about the children, varied by reports of his personal misfortunes.He put no questions, and asked no replies, so this gave theinexperienced soldier a few seconds to plan a campaign. There werethree houses to pass; the Browns' at the corner, the Millikens', and theRobinsons' on the brow of the hill. If Mr. Robinson were in the frontyard 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 thesituation, and dragging out the precious bundle, sit on it hard, whileMr. Robinson settled the matter of ownership 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, "all of a sudden":"Please take the flag out of the back of the wagon, Mr. Robinson. Wehave brought it here for you to keep overnight." Mr. Simpson might beso surprised that he would give up his prize rather than be suspected ofstealing.

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

  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 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. She well remembered how Emma JanePerkins had failed to convert Jacob Moody, simply because she failed to"lead up" to the delicate question of his manner of life. Clearing herthroat nervously, she began: "Is it likely to be fair tomorrow?"

  "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 to lookat! Mr. Cobb is going to be Uncle Sam and drive us on the stage. MissDearborn--Clara 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 theone to be the State of Maine!" (This was not altogether to the point,but a piece of information impossible to conceal.)

  Mr. Simpson flourished the whipstock and gave a loud, hearty laugh. Thenhe turned in his seat and regarded Rebecca curiously. "You're kind ofsmall, hain't ye, for so big a state as this one?" he asked.

  "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 herhand on 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 there tomorrowmorning and find no flag to raise, and the band and the mayor alldisappointed, and the children crying, with their muslin dresses allbought for nothing! O dear Mr. Simpson, please don't take our flag awayfrom us!"

  The apparently astonished Abner pulled his mustaches and exclaimed: "ButI 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 I starveto death!"

  "Look here, hold your hosses n' don't cry till you git something to cryfor!" grumbled the outraged Abner, to whom a clue had just come; andleaning over the wagon-back he caught hold of a corner of white sheetand dragged up the bundle, scooping off Rebecca's hat 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 swan 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 your 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 her almost impossiblethat so heavy a bundle should fall out of Mrs. Meserve's buggy and notbe noticed; but she hoped that Mr. Simpson was telling the truth, andshe was too glad and grateful to doubt anyone at 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 twas me that happened to see that bundlein the road and take the trouble to pick it up." ("Jest to think of it'sbein' a flag!" he thought; "if ever there was a pesky, wuthless thing totrade off, twould be a great, gormin' flag like that!")

  "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 theflag, and she has heart trouble."

  "No, you don't," objected Mr. Simpson gallantly, turning the horse. "Doyou 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 thecorner 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 ahigh-pitched and grandiloquent mood. "Why don't YOU like it? It's yourcountry's flag."

  Simpson smiled an indulgent smile and looked a trifle bored at thesefrequent appeals to his extremely rusty higher feelings.

  "I don' know's I've got any partic'lar int'rest in the country," heremarked languidly. "I know I don't owe nothin' to it, nor own nothin'in it!"

  "You own a star on the flag, same as everybody," argued Rebecca, who hadbeen feeding on patriotism for a month; "and you own a state, too, likeall of us!"

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

  As they approached the corner and the watering-trough where fourcross-roads 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 herhands, turned out to be Mrs. Peter Meserve, accompanied by Huldah, theBrowns, Mrs. Milliken, Abijah Flagg, and Miss Dearborn.

  "Do you know anything about the new flag, Rebecca?" shrieked Mrs.Meserve, too agitated, at the 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 whereI left 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, and whatbusiness was it of yours? I believe you think you OWN the flag! Hand itover 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 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 hadever discomfited him so thoroughly as this child. Fury mounted to hisbrain, and as soon as she was safely out from between the wheels hestood up in the wagon and flung the flag out in the road in the midst ofthe excited group.

  "Take it, you pious, passimonious, cheese-parin', hair-splittin',back-bitin', flag-raisin' crew!" he roared. "Rebecca never took theflag; 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 twas your garden, but it was so chock full o' weeks I THOUGHTtwas 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 bended 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 go to thunder--n' stay there, for all Icare!"

  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 Dorcases totake care of it and so it fell to me! You wouldn't have had me let itout of my sight, would you, and we going to raise it tomorrow morning?"

  "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, butseems to me the town clerk might write down in his book, THIS DAY THESTATE OF MAINE SAVED THE FLAG!'"