O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.’”
So on the evening of the Fourth the people of Tomstown were somewhat astonished to see the young Centennial Guards march down the principal street, pass the green, where extensive preparations for festivities had been made, and keep on up the hill until, beginning to descend on the other side, they were lost to sight.
At the head marched Frank with his drum. Caddy came directly behind him with a bunch of brilliant flowers. The others carried flags, Chinese lanterns, and boxes of fire-works, while Captain Tom flew here and there and everywhere, trying to keep—an almost hopeless task—the mischievous company in something like order.
“Where away?” shouted Uncle Al—an old sailor home for the holiday—as the guards passed his door.
“To Aunt Patience—our own special Centennial,” Frank shouted back with a tremendous roll of the drum.
Uncle Al, always ready for fun, pipe in mouth, fell in line, waving his tarpaulin on the end of a stick, and Ex, his yellow dog, and Ander, his black one, followed after, grinning and wagging their tails.
Then the butcher’s boy, and his chum the baker’s boy, who were going by, turned and joined the procession, and away they all went, hurrahing, laughing and drumming, to the door of the very small cottage.
“Bless my heart!” said Aunt Patience, who was sitting in a wooden arm-chair on the stoop, and who, hearing faintly, poor, dear, deaf old soul, the noise of the approaching “guards,” had been thinking the frogs croaked much louder than usual, “what’s this?”
And bare-footed, brown-eyed Faith came out with wonder written all over her pretty face.
“Three cheers for our special Centennial!” shouted the boys; and they gave three with a will, as Caddy placed her flowers in the old woman’s hand.