But Arne talked a great deal about it to his mother. He talked about it to Lyman and Leslie, who were helpers at the farm. When it was dark and chores were done, he sat on the flat stone at the doorstep and watched the stars come out while he thought about it some more—only four more days!
The morning of the first of July, Christopher trotted into Danville at a pretty rapid pace. Indeed, he was rather white around the collar when they at last reached the circus poster on the road to Danville. But he earned his rest, for there Arne stopped and gazed at all the wonderful things. The circus poster promised many, many more than were pictured there. It said a thousand thrills would be felt by everyone who witnessed the daring tight-rope walking. It spoke of the Wild West and Indians that were a feature of the performance. It was only a big poster but one felt after looking at it, that one could hardly wait three days more before the Fourth should come! And going home from Danville, Arne again sat beside Harold while Christopher jogged behind. Again they talked. Again they planned. Again they undid Christopher from the rear of Harold’s cart. Again at the crossroads, they parted till the morrow. And again on the morrow, the very same thing occurred.
Only one day more before the Fourth! In the country few have firecrackers. Arne was thinking chiefly about that circus. He and Harold planned to go in time to see the parade in the morning. Only one day more—
Then the next day it rained. It rained unexpectedly in the afternoon when the hay was all ready to pitch. They had to hurry out, even in the rain, and stack it. Arne went with the others. He was wet through when he came in but his spirits were undampened by the shower. Only one night more—and then, Fourth of July and circus! Hooray! Hooray! Hooray! Tomorrow! Tomorrow!
After he had fixed the bran mixture for the calves that night, Arne hung around the barn where Lyman and Leslie were milking. He liked to hear them talk and joke together. Tonight, he himself felt that there was only one big subject of conversation and he broached this as he came through with the empty pails that had held the calves’ supper. “I’m goin’ to the Danville circus tomorrow,” he chirped. “Be you goin’ too?”
“You’re lucky, kid,” replied Leslie. “How’d you get the money?”
“My week’s wages,” answered Arne. “The thrift stamp money.” When he said it, somehow, it sounded queer. It sounded—yes, it sounded unpatriotic. But Arne felt it only a second. He lifted himself with a jump to the side of the hay-cart that stood near-by and dangled his bare feet from denim overalls, “I’m goin’ with Harold,” he amplified. “We’re goin’ to hitch by the creamery an’ see the parade.” He swung his legs and whistled. The tune was The Star-Spangled Banner.
“I used to think more of firecrackers an’ that kind of thing when I was a kid,” said Leslie. “But I guess all them firecracker jiggers went over the other side when the war come. ’Tain’t patriotic to spend money for ’em now, these days. There’ll be bangin’ enough to suit everybody this July Fourth, I reckon, without firecrackers. We’re fightin’ for freedom in the same old way but our firecrackers are bigger’n they used to be an’ it takes our boys in the trenches to handle ’em. Just as soon as I’m old enough, I’m goin’ over there to help, I am!”
“Me too,” said Lyman. “It’s all right doin’ one’s bit here on a farm but I’m goin’ to help ’em win the war!”
Leslie laughed. “Sounds as if you was goin’ to do the whole of it,” he chuckled.