d 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 sho