it.

Winifred made quite a diversion by coming down dressed as Columbia, in
a white muslin with blue sashes and a big bunch of red roses. She had
made a helmet of card-board and covered it with gold paper. In one
hand she held a long lance of the same shiny stuff, and in the other
a big flag. We all laughed and sang and shouted, and had a fine
old-fashioned, emotional Fourth. It did me good.

After tea, I had a surprise in a call from Cousin John's son. In fact,
the call was a surprise on both sides. This is how it came about. The
day before yesterday, Dr. Cricket, who is a good creature, though
self-opinionated and always differing from me, was called to see a
patient over at the inn; and yesterday, making his second call, he
left his gold-bowed glasses, and spent the afternoon bewailing his
loss, for he fancied they had slipped out of his pocket when he sat
down on the beach to rest. The patient, who is a young man (of some
pretensions to gentility, I understand, although a New Yorker),
discovered them in the office (otherwise bar-room) of the inn, and
walked over to bring them this evening. With him was Philip Brady,
whom I have not seen these ten years; but I should have known him in a
moment from his likeness to Cousin John. He is a fine young man, and
does credit to the family. I think Winifred will like him.

Dr. Cricket was on the porch when they came; and when he saw the
glasses, he was ready to fall upon the young men's necks while they
were yet a long way off. He really was quite ridiculous with his
"Bless my soul!" "Very kind upon my honor!" "Now Richard is himself
again!" and I don't know what more, hopping about meanwhile like the
cricket, who was no doubt his ancestor in pre-historic times, and
pulling up chairs for men twenty years younger than himself. I have no
patience with too much vivacity in middle-aged people; when we turn
fifty, dignity is all we have left, and we'd better make the most of
it.

When the Doctor had thanked his visitors five times over for what was
really a small matter for two able-bodied young men, he insisted on
their sitting down, and turned round to me,--I hate being dragged into
a situation,--"Miss Standish," said he, "I want you to know Mr.
um--ah--Flint, I believe? and his friend, Mr. um--ah--What is the
name, may I ask?"

"I can tell you," said I, coming forward and really looking up for the
first time (for I am trying to train myself not to stare and peer as
some