"Oh! That last ribbon! Isn't anybody going to hold it?"
Now historians shouldn't laugh. Historians should only put down what occurs. But I, your historian of Branton Hills, not only had to laugh, but to roar; for this tot, worrying about that hanging ribbon, saw our big pompous Council group looking on. Now a Council is nothing to a tot of four; just a man or two, standing around. So, trotting up and grasping Old Bill's hand, this tot said:
"You'll hold it, won't you?"
"What!!" and Simpkins was all colors on throat and brow as Branton Hills' Council stood, grinning. But that baby chin was straining up, and a pair of baby arms was pulling, oh, so hard; and, in a sort of coma, big, pompous, grouchy Councilman Simpkins took that hanging ribbon! A band struck up a quick march, and round and round trod that happy, singing ring, with Old Bill looming up as big as a mountain amongst its foothills! Laugh? I thought His Honor would burst!
As that ribbon spiral got wound, Simpkins, coming back, said, with a growl:—
"I was afraid I would tramp on a kid or two in that silly stunt."
"It wasn't silly, Bill," said Gadsby. "It was grand!" And Tony Bandamita sang out:—
"Gooda work, Councilmanna! My four bambinos walka right in fronta you, and twista ribbons!"
Simpkins, though, would only snort, and pass on.