“Cheer!” whispered Cicely to Paul.
Paul, entering into it, set up hurrahs with so much vigor that all the people near him joined in patriotically, to the confusion of the reader, who went on, however, as well as he could:
“We hold these truths—to be self-evident, that all men are created equal—”
“Again,” murmured Cicely.
And again Paul’s corner burst forth irrepressibly, followed after a moment by the entire assemblage, glad to be doing something in a vocal way on their own account, and determined to have their money’s worth of everything, noise and all.
And so, from “the present king of Great Britain” to “our lives, our forrchuns, and our sacrred honor” on it went, a chorus of hurrahs growing louder and louder until they became roars.
“I knew it was you,” Hollis said to Paul, when, later, his official duties over, and his satin scarf removed, he appeared at the cottage to talk it over.
“But say, did you notice the widows of our fallen heroes? They had a sort of glare under their crape. You see, once we had eight of ’em, but this year there is only one left; all the rest have married again. Now it happens that this very year the Soldiers’ Monument is done at last, and naturally the committee wanted the widows to ride in the procession. The one widow who was left declared that she would not ride all alone; she said it would look as though no one had asked her, whereas she had had at least three good offers. So the committee went to the others and asked them to dress up as former widows, just for to-day. So they did; and lots of people cried when they came along, two and two, all in black, so pathetic.” He sprang up to greet Eve, who was entering, and the foot-board entangled itself with his feet, after the peculiarly insidious fashion of extension-chairs. “Instrument of torture!” he said, grinning.
“I will leave it to you in my will,” declared Paul. “And it is just as well to say it now, before witnesses, because I am going away to-morrow.”
“To-morrow!” said Cicely.