“I fancy,” remarked Mr. Austin, half-interrogatively, half in assertion, “that our present sovereign is more highly appreciated in America than was her royal grandfather George the Third?”
“There is no comparison,” replied Captain Raymond. “Americans highly appreciated your queen’s kindly expressed sympathy in the sad days of our poor Garfield’s suffering, and she has many admirers among us.”
Just then Mr. Riggs came up the path from the front gate, and greeting the company, “Good-evenin’, cap’n, Mr. Austin, and young folks,” took a seat in their midst.
“Well, we’ve had a riglar old-time glorious Fourth,” he went on, addressing no one in particular, “on’y ’tisn’t done yit, thank fortin’, an’ I’ve come round to see them fireworks set off. The folks did turn out copiously this mornin’, and I don’t mistrust that they won’t do it agin to-night.”
“Of course they will. Who wouldn’t turn out to see fireworks?”
It was the squeaky little voice again right behind his chair, as on the former occasion.
He sprang up as if he had been shot, faced about, and with a scared look asked, “Why, where is he—the old raskil?”
“Rascal, indeed! I’m no rascal, sir, but a patriotic, honest American citizen.”
It was the squeaky voice again, and this time sounded a trifle farther off, as if the speaker might be descending the porch steps; but though distinctly heard, he could not be seen.
“Well, now, if it isn’t the beatenest thing! I wonder ef I’m a-gittin’ crazy!” exclaimed Riggs, staring wildly round from side to side. “You all heered him, didn’t ye? but has anybody seen the raskilly feller?”