FullReads

Loud applause greeted the State of Maine, the slender little white-clad 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 star-spangled 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, and what is it, anyway? Nothin’ but a sheet o’ buntin’!'”

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 white-clad 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, eager, absorbed, their throats ready to burst with cheers. Then the breeze served, and he heard Rebecca’s clear voice saying:–

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

“Talk about stars! She’s got a couple of ’em right in her head,” thought Simpson. “If I ever seen a young one like that layin’ 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 would be any harder!”

He could see Rebecca stepping down from the platform, while his own red-headed 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:–

“Three cheers for the women who made the flag!”

“Hip, hip, hurrah!”

“Three cheers for the State of Maine!”

“Hip, hip, hurrah!”

“Three cheers for the girl who saved the flag from the hands of the enemy!”

“Hip, hip, hurrah!”

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 huzzahs might almost have wakened the echoes on old Mount Ossipee.

The tall, loose-jointed 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 half-hearted cut he gave to start the white mare on her homeward journey showed that he was not in his usual reckless mood.

“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 was somebody’s wash! I ain’t an enemy!”

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 material.

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

The faithful wife with the sad mouth and the habitual look of anxiety in her faded eyes came to the door at the sound of wheels and went doggedly to the horse-shed to help him unharness. “You did n’t expect to see me back to-night, 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 wagon-seat, 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 steal a flag!”

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 other road for a spell;” and with that he fell asleep.