hands. It was not a large house, or a fine
one, but it did have a very comfortable little porch. To-day this porch
was beautifully decorated, like the whole town, with the colors of two
countries, one living and one dead; and the decorations for the dead
were three times greater than the decorations for the living. And why
not? Yet, at that, Sharlee was liberal-minded and a thorough-going
nationalist. On some houses, the decorations for the dead were five
times greater, like Benjamin's mess; on others, ten times; on yet
others, no colors at all floated but the beloved Stars and Bars.

Upon the steps of Mrs. Weyland's porch sat Mr. Queed, come by special
invitation of Mrs. Weyland's daughter to witness the parade.

The porch, being so convenient for seeing things, was hospitably taxed
to its limits. New people kept turning in at the gate, mostly ladies,
mostly white-haired ladies wearing black, and Sharlee was incessantly
springing up to greet them. However, Queed, feeling that the proceedings
might be instructive to him, had had the foresight to come early, before
the sidewalks solidified with spectators; and at first, and
spasmodically thereafter, he had some talk with Sharlee.

"So you didn't forget?" she said, in greeting him.

He eyed her reflectively. "When I was seven years old," he began, "Tim
once asked me to attend to something for him while he went out for a
minute. It was to mind some bacon that he had put on to broil for
supper. I became absorbed in a book I was reading, and Tim came back to
find the bacon a crisp. I believe I have never forgotten anything from
that day to this. You have a holiday at the Department?"

"Why, do you suppose we'd work to-day!" said Sharlee, and introduced him
to her mother, who, having attentively overheard his story of Tim and
the bacon, proceeded to look him over with some care.

Sharlee left them for a moment, and came back bearing a flag about the
size of a man's visiting card.

"You are one of us, aren't you? I have brought you," she said, "your
colors."

Queed looked and recognized the flag that was everywhere in predominance
that day. "And what will it mean if I wear it?"

"Only," said Sharlee, "that you love the South."

Vaguely Queed saw in her blue-spar eyes the same kind of softness that
he noticed in people's voices this afternoon, a softness which somehow
reminded him of a funeral, Fifi's or Colonel Cowles's.

"Oh, very well, if you like."

Sharlee pu