looking a decoration as a body can put up.

Tents are raised in the vacant lots along Center Street, and counters
knocked together for the sale of ice-cold lemonade, lemo, lemo, lemo,
made in the shade, with a spade, by an old maid, lemo, lemo. Here y' are
now, gents, gitch nice cool drink, on'y five a glass. There is even the
hook for the ice-cream candy man to throw the taffy over when he pulls
it. I like to watch him. It makes me dribble at the mouth to think about
it.

The man that sells the squawking toys and the rubber balloons on sticks
is in town. All he can say is: "Fi' cent." He will blow up the balloons
tomorrow morning. The men with the black-velvet covered shields, all
stuck full of "souvenirs," are here, and the men with the little canes.
I guess we'll have a big crowd if it doesn't rain. What does the paper
say about the weather?

The boys have been playing a new game for some time past, but it is
only this evening that you notice it. The way of it is this: You take
an express-wagon--it has to have real wheels: these sawed-out wheels
are too baby--and you tie a long rope to the tongue and fix loops on the
rope, so that the boys can put each a loop over his shoulder. (You want
a good many boys.) And you get big, long, thick pieces of rag and you
take and tie them so as to make a big, big, long piece, about as long as
from here to 'way over there. And you lay this in the wagon, kind of in
folds like. Then you go up to where they water the horses and two of you
go at the back end of the wagon and the rest put the loops over their
shoulders, and one boy says, "Are you ready?" and he has a Fourth of
July pistol and he shoots off a cap. And when you hear that, you run
like the dickens and the two boys behind the wagon let out the hose (the
big, long, thick piece of rag) and fix it so it lies about straight on
the ground. And when you have run as far as the hose will reach, the boy
with the Fourth of July pistol says: "Twenty-eight and two-fifths,"
and that's the game. And the kids don't like for big folks to stand and
watch them, because they always make fun so.

In other towns they have Boys' Companies organized strictly for
Tournament purposes. There was talk of having one here. Mat. King, the
assistant chief, was all for having one so that we could compete in what
he calls "the juveline contests," but it fell through somehow.

Along about sun-up you hear the big farm-wagons clattering into town,
chair