a Belle can't hardly wait for a sight of you!"

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 be branded again as the child
of a thief.

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 though it was, was perforce
abandoned.

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 after