“I guess not,” hazarded Ned. “It evens up, you know. And then, we’re only kids.”
The day of the parade came, and dawned upon a town already gay with bunting and banners. As the sun rose higher, and peeped into the streets, seemingly at the touch of his rays other bunting and banners unfolded. By noon Republican Beaufort was in gala attire. Democratic Beaufort stolidly gazed, and resolved:
“Just wait until our turn, next week.”
Lithographs of the Republican candidates were displayed on all sides, in windows and attached to flags drooping from upper stories; cheese-cloth, bearing mottoes and portraits, spanned the downtown streets and stretched across corners; through the ordinary channels of business and private affairs ran a current of excitement.
“So you’re going to march, are you, Ned?” remarked his father, that noon, at dinner.
“Don’t, Neddie,” begged his mother. “You’ll get all covered with dirt and grease; and I’m sure the sight of you in the ranks won’t influence many voters.”
“But I’ve promised Hal to march in his parade if he’ll march in mine,” explained Ned. “And he’ll be mad if I back out. I’ll wear my old clothes.”
Mrs. Miller sighed and looked, for support, at her husband. However, not having Ned’s garments to clean, he was filled only with amusement.
As the afternoon wore on, the delegations from outside points began to arrive. In the shape of marching clubs, with wild cheers they tumbled off from incoming trains, and forming at the depot paraded up town, bands playing and people shouting. Or as farmers’ families they rattled in by wagon-loads, and tying the horses around the court-house square wandered through the streets.
In the schoolroom Ned and his fellow prisoners could hear the cries and music and sound of heavy wheels, and chafed to be free. With the welcome four o’clock bell they poured abroad, quite certain that there were a thousand new things to see.