noon when he
came home and surprised the whole school playing the Revolutionary War
in his helter-skelter dooryard, and the way in which he had joined the
British forces and impersonated General Burgoyne had greatly endeared
him to her. 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
began:--

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

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

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

"That so? Where?"

"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 in the Grange Hall, and we girls are chosen to raise the
flag."

"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 Dearborn--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 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 to try hard to do well."

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 dreadf