Rhoda was looking at the colours, but showed only interest.
"They come out very nice," she said, "and of course they ought to be here. If I was you, I should be prouder of them two things and the great, valiant battle they stand for, than anything else belonging to David. And if you'd been there, Madge, as I was, and had seen David, despite all that he went through, come out top and smash in t'other man's face with his last strength afore he went blind--if you'd seen it, you wouldn't wish the colours away. 'Twas I hitched 'em off the post when everybody else had forgot 'em."
"There's the other man to think of, however."
"Why?" asked Rhoda. "I'm sure that Bartley Crocker, who be pretty large-minded with all his faults, wouldn't think none the worse of David for hanging up the handkerchers like this. He'd have done the same quick enough--or his mother would have done it for him. The men be good friends, and so they ought to be. But that's no reason against it."
Margaret admitted the justice of the argument.
"If you think it can't hurt anybody's feelings, no doubt there's no real harm," she said.
"Of course not. Men be men, and not so tender and touchy as the likes of you. Why, what did Mr. Crocker say at your wedding? Nothing but what was friendly and kindly, I'm sure."
"No, indeed--a beautiful speech; and 'twas as much for that reason as any other that I thought perhaps, if ever he came to see us and caught sight of the colours--"
"He'll be the first to say they look very fine," prophesied Rhoda. "All the same, I hope I shan't be here when he calls--if he does call--for--"
She stopped and Margaret answered.