ow 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 New England sky.

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 remember a single word.

"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 cross-eyed 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 wagon--a tall, loose-jointed man
with red upturned mustaches, and a gaunt white horse whose head was
turned toward the Acreville road.

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 ha