ment of getting under way and trying to
remember which way her new hat was supposed to set Mrs. Hen had failed
to notice the crime until, her fears set at rest by Mary Langeley, she
turned around to see if Hen looked all right.

Uncle Tony was in a great state of excitement. He was continually
leaving his place in The Business Men's Association to have a look from
the side lines at the imposing spectacle.

Here and there mothers close enough to their offspring were suggesting
a more frequent use of handkerchiefs and calling attention to
traitorous garters and wrinkled stockings. Tommy Downey had forgotten
what his mother had told him about being sure to put his ears inside
his cap and those two appendages, burned and already blistered by the
hot May sun, stood out in solemn grandeur from his small, round,
grinning face. The school teachers were keeping anxious eyes on their
particular broods and insisting that the eager feet keep solemn step to
the music.

Sam Ellis' new greenhorn hired girl, Francy, was sitting in the back
seat of the buggy, holding down the brimming baskets and leaning out as
far as possible so as not to miss anything that might happen at either
end as well as the middle of the procession. She had been utterly
unable to pin on her first American hat with hatpins, so had wisely
tied it to her head with a large red-bordered handkerchief which she
had brought over from the old country.

Jocelyn Brownlee, sitting beside David in his smart rig, had begged him
to go last so that she could see everything. This was her first
country festival and no child in that throng was so happily, wildly
eager to drain the day to the very last drop of enjoyment.

Jocelyn and David however did not end the procession. Behind them,
though quite a way back, was Uncle Tony's brother William. William was
driving his span of grays so slowly that the pretty creatures tossed
their heads restlessly, impatiently, lonely for the companionship of
the gay throng ahead.

But though their owner knew what they wanted he held them back sternly.
But he looked as wistfully as they at the fluttering flags and listened
as keenly to the puffs of music that the wind dashed into his face
every now and then.

Every Decoration Day Uncle Tony's brother William rode just so, slowly
and alone at the end of the gay procession. On that day he was a
lonely and tragic figure. Loved and respected every other day in the
year, on this he wa