Suddenly Philip appeared in the store, and said:—
"Caleb, you're wanted at the bath-house. Better go up there at once. No, nothing wrong; but go."
Business went on, and Grace did her best to attend to a score of feminine customers at one and the same time; but suddenly the entire crowd hurried out of the store, for the sound of the G. A. R.'s fife and drum, playing "We'll Rally Round the Flag," floated through the open doors and windows.
"I suppose we, too, may as well look at the procession," said Philip, moving toward the door.
"Oh, Phil!" exclaimed Grace, looking up the street, "they have guns, and they're in uniforms. How strange! Caleb told me they hadn't any."
"True, but Caleb is a great man to bring new things to pass."
"They're all in uniform but three," said Grace, as the little procession approached the store. "The fifer and drummer and the man with the flag haven't any. What a—"
"The fifer and drummer were not soldiers. The man with the flag is One-Arm Ojam, who was in Pickett's great charge at Gettysburg, and he's in full Confederate gray."
So he was, even to a gray hat, with the Stars and Bars on its front, and a long gray plume at its side, and the magnificent Southern swagger with which he bore the colors was—after the flag itself—the grandest feature of the procession. The multitude on both sides of the street applauded wildly, but the old soldiers marched as steadily as if they were on duty, for the uniforms and muskets were recalling old times in their fulness. Suddenly, as the procession reached the front of the store, Post-Commander Caleb Wright, sword in hand, shouted:—