“And that three-legged race,” mourned Amy. “Probably I’ll never get a chance to see another. Peggy, I warn you that when you look so–preposterously cheerful, it makes me feel like throwing something.”
Peggy laughed, and helped herself to toast. “I was only thinking that if we were going to keep the Fourth of July indoors, we’d have to have a flag of some sort.”
“You don’t mean you’d go three miles in this rain after a flag, Peggy. And, anyway, the store would be closed for the Fourth.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to buy one. I thought we’d make it.”
“Make a flag!” exclaimed Claire Fendall. “Who ever heard of such a thing?”
“Betsy Ross did it,” Peggy reminded her. “Let’s us hurry through the dishes and see if we can’t do as much.”
Even though the prospect of emulating Betsy Ross was an unsatisfactory substitute for the anticipated excitements of the day, Peggy’s suggestion was noticeably successful in raising the drooping spirits of the crowd. The work of the morning was dispatched in haste, and the girls flocked to the living-room where a fire less ambitious than their first attempt had been kindled on the hearth. Peggy had produced a large-sized white towel from her trunk, and she at once began to explain her plan.
“This will do for a foundation, girls. It’s soft and it will drape nicely. Now all we need is a blue patch in one corner, and red stripes. Who’s got any red ribbon?”
“I’ve got that red ribbon I use for a sash,” responded Amy. “But I’d hate to have it cut.”
“Oh, we won’t need to cut it. You see, this flag is going to be draped over the fireplace, so its shortcomings won’t be in evidence, and we’ll turn the ribbon on the side that doesn’t show. Bring me all the red ribbons in the house. Amy’s sash won’t be enough.”