“When are you going to have the flag drill? Oh, how I should like to see it!”
“I have rattled on so fast I forgot to say that—why—we are not sure about that, for, you see, we have got to get a lawn, or grounds that would be suitable.” Her face reddened, for she suddenly remembered that it was Mrs. Van Vorst’s lawn that the girls had wanted, and that she had refused to let them have it.
“You see,” she explained awkwardly, “we want a place where the people can see us, and then we want to have booths decorated with our colors—they are Red, White, and Blue, you know—so we can sell ice-cream. Each table is to be named after one of the thirteen States; but there, I don’t believe we can have it.”
“Mamma, come here quick,” called Nita imperiously, sitting up and peering into the sun parlor where her mother was seated sewing, “I want you to hear about the Flag Drill, and oh, Mother, won’t you let me see it? Oh, please, Mother, I can go all muffled up, no one will see me,” pleaded the girlish voice pathetically.
Mrs. Van Vorst bent over and softly stroked the golden head as she cried, “Now dear, don’t get excited! Mother will do all she can for you.”
“You tell her about it!” broke from Nita hurriedly, as she pulled at Nathalie’s gown. Then falling back on the couch she exclaimed with determination, “But I’m going to see it, Mother, yes I am!”
Somewhat hesitatingly Nathalie began, but in a moment, perceiving that her listener was much interested, she launched forth and told about the Flag Drill in all its details.
“And you are going to use the money you make for your Camping Fund?” inquired Nita’s mother as Nathalie finished.
Nathalie nodded, “That is, if we can get the right place to hold it—oh—” she flushed again and then grew suddenly silent.
“Did not one of the Pioneers ask me if I would let them have my lawn in the rear of the house?”