"It really is, mamma, and I think it has been rather a good thing as it has kept her from spending all her money foolishly. Of course, the hall itself was a foolish expense, yet these last few weeks she has been able to waste only part of her money, but now—"
At this moment Angelina appeared with the little red book, and Martine, quickly turning to the pages with her account, saw to Angelina's satisfaction as well as her own, that the indebtedness for the hall had been cancelled.
"There," cried Angelina, folding up the receipt that Martine with business-like exactness gave her. "I am relieved. Now I can celebrate all I want to, for fire-crackers cost a lot."
"Please don't waste your money on fireworks."
"Really, Angelina, you must not," added Martine.
But Angelina, making no reply either to Mrs. Stratford or Martine—unless a nod and three shakes of the head and a broad smile could be called a reply, flew down the little slope toward the road.
The morning of the Fourth was so quiet that Martine might have forgotten the great and glorious holiday but for Angelina. Before the breakfast dishes were washed, the latter was outside striking torpedoes against the stone that formed the kitchen doorstep.
When Mrs. Stratford went with her books to her retreat under the trees in the garden, she found two small flags standing in the vase that was usually filled with flowers.
When once her mind was turned toward the Fourth, Martine began to recall Independence Days of the past. What fun she and Lucian used to have! Why, they often had been up before sunrise to play with their fire-crackers and torpedoes. Then at night—
"I wonder," mused Martine, "if any other children ever had half the sport we had. Set pieces, and fire balloons, as well as rockets; how indulgent father always was. No wonder I feel blue to-day, and expect too much—when it isn't likely that in this town a single person is thinking about us."