Jimmy’s eyes shone. He had lived in this free country for five years and a half, and had never known till to-day that it was free! He thought of a bird let out of a cage, of a poor wild gopher let out of a trap. What a splendid thing it is to fly or run, just as one chooses!
He looked at his treasures of fireworks lying beside him on the floor, and smiled. Ever so many boys were coming to see him send up these beautiful flaming pictures into the air. He should tell the boys,—maybe they didn’t know,—he should tell them he did it because this country is free!
Wee Lucy sat on a stool with a book in her hand. She cared very little about freedom or fireworks or “Fourthy July.” She was scowling at a picture in the twilight.
“That’s Georgie; that’s the hatchet-man!” said she wrathfully, and would have picked out both his eyes with a pin if Aunt Vi had not stopped her.
“Well, he’s awful! Bad man! Bad man! Is he alive, Auntie?”
“No, dear; the good Washington died long, long ago.”
Lucy clapped her hands in glee.
“Oh, I’m so glad, so glad!”
“What! Glad the good Washington is dead?”