"Get right away!" She seized Davy by the shoulder. "Little good-for-nothings! This is a patriotic celebration and we don't want any Hopworth's in it!"
Nancy's eyes blazed. "Oh, Mrs. Eaton! Don't—they're just children! They——"
"You're a stranger here in Freedom, Miss Leavitt—I'll be pleased if you'll let me manage this! I say it's an insult to our heroes to have Eric Hopworth's young 'uns here—an insult to Freedom's noble history!" The ruffles on her bosom heaved in her anger. "What'd Eric Hopworth do for his country! When I think of my Archie——" What she might have thought did not find expression, because of the pins she was tearing roughly from Nonie's cape and thrusting between her teeth. "Go off now," she panted between the shining row. "Go off where you came from!"
Then, almost simultaneously with the approach of a dishevelled Indian hollering between cupped hands that "p'rade's goin' start," came Webb's warning whistle from down the street. Mrs. Eaton straightened to an appropriate dignity of bearing. She made a waving motion of her arm toward her little dears that ignored Nancy, standing back, dumb with the cruelty of it all.
But Nonie's crestfallen face stung Nancy to sudden action. While the band of peace fluttered wildly back to its position, Nancy, with an arm about each, moved with the children toward the church. She moved quickly, too, for a sudden inspiration had seized her. She remembered three flags on standards in the Sunday-school room. She bade Davy get them.
"Do just what I tell you," she commanded. "The cat!" she threw over her shoulder.
All Freedom was too intent upon catching a first glimpse of Webb's host moving up the village street to notice the strange sight of Nancy and her companions racing through the back yards and fields that skirted the main thoroughfare. A long tear in Nancy's skirt testified to the speed with which she had climbed all obstacles. Such was the fire in her soul that she could have climbed a mountain!
In the shade of a wide maple tree, B'lindy, resplendent in fresh gingham and her good-as-new-last-year's-hat, watched Webb's "doin's" with a heart that fluttered with pride. No town in the whole Island could turn out more folks! But, then, no town on the Island had a prouder history!
With his badges glittering on the faded blue coat, Webb marched at the head of his "p'rade" in his uniform of the Grand Army of the Republic. On either side of him stepped the recently returned soldiers, their young-old faces turned straight ahead, their worn tunics attesting to other lines of march through other village streets. Behind them were the three soldier boys who had not "gone across." In pure enjoyment of the occasion they had forgotten the resentment against fate that they had cherished. A group of boys and girls in Indian costume portrayed that epoch of Freedom's history. One great warrior brandished a tomahawk that had been dug up in a nearby field and was now kept in a suitable setting at the post-office. Close at their heels followed four staid Puritan men, broad white collars pinned over Sunday coats. Ethan Allen and his brother Ira, beloved heroes of the little Islands, were there in character. Two lanky lads wore the uniform of 1861. Mrs. Eaton's "band of peace" in straggling lines, brought up the rear.
Greeted from each side by lusty cheers, through a cloud of dust, to the tap-a-tap-tap of three proud drummers, the pageant moved down the street. It had been Webb's plan that the "p'rade" should halt before the stoop of the hotel, where Mr. Todd, the postmaster, in a collar much too high and a coat much too tight, waited to give an address of welcome. But as Webb's eyes roved with pardonable pride over the fringe of spectators on each side of the line of march, they suddenly spied an unexpected sight. On the stepping block in front of the school house stood Nancy, her white skirts blowing, with Nonie and Davy on each side. And each held, proudly upright, an American flag.