The day, as befitted the holiday, proved hot, and Martine, swinging languidly in the hammock, at length admitted to herself that she was glad that she had no troublesome social engagement to keep, and she maintained this opinion even in face of Angelina's report, after a walk to the village, that there seemed to be a great deal going on.
To oblige Angelina, dinner instead of tea was served at five, and it proved a great success.
"I would like to have served red white and blue ice-cream, but I didn't know how to make it blue, so it's red and white," apologized Angelina.
"I might have supplied the blue this morning," said Martine. "It's too late now." But no one understood her feeble attempt at a pun.
"It seems worse," said Angelina, as they gathered up the dishes, "to leave dinner things to be washed until morning, but if your mother don't mind—"
"I am sure that I don't," said Martine, "and as for mother—why, of course she won't care."
"Well, I have some very important business to attend to—if you'll excuse me."
Upon this Angelina disappeared, and in the pleasant twilight Martine went outside with her mother to the little retreat in the garden.
"I half wish," said Mrs. Stratford, "that we had had a few fireworks. Even if we are shut off from the world, we ought not to forget the Fourth. I didn't suppose there would be much celebrating down here, but see!"
Looking where her mother pointed, Martine saw a great fire balloon soaring slowly into the air. They watched it until it disappeared and as the twilight deepened, they counted many rockets and Roman candles going up in various directions.