"Because I was Barbara Frietchie."
"Now, Hazel, sit up and look me in the face and tell me what you mean. I supposed I was holding Hazel Clyde in my arms and not old Barbara Frietchie. Please explain."
"I thought I wrote you, papa," Hazel could not help smiling through her tears, for it did strike her as rather funny about papa's holding the patriotic, old lady in his arms.
"Well, you did n't tell me that." So Hazel explained.
Mr. Clyde nodded approval. "Very good, I approve of the N.B.B.O.O. Society, and of the present Barbara Frietchie's heroism--but no more of it is called for. You see, I fully intended you should pay your friends--my friends--a visit this summer, but I thought it would be much better later in the season when Mrs. Blossom would be rested from the fatigue of March's illness--"
"Oh, papa!" A squeeze effectually impeded further utterance. "I don't care how soon we go to Newport, or anywhere--of course, if you are with me--as long as I can go to Mount Hunger sometime this summer. And, besides," she added eagerly, "we planned next winter's visit from Rose, didn't we?"
"I should rather think we did. We shall be very proud of our beautiful friend, Rose, and delighted to have our friends meet her, shan't we?" Another squeeze precluded, for the moment, articulate speech.
"Yes," Hazel cried, enthusiastically, "we 'll take her to concerts and operas--just think, papa, with that lovely voice she has never heard a concert!--and we 'll take her to the theatre and--"
"And," her father went on, growing enthusiastic himself at the prospect, for he was the soul of hospitality, "and we 'll give her a dainty dinner or two, and possibly a little dance--few and early, you know--"
"Oh--ee!" cried Hazel, forgetting her woe, "and Mrs. Heath will give a lunch-party for her, and, perhaps, Aunt Carrie a tea, and Mrs. Fenlick a reception--"