"How many white stripes?" "Six!"
"How many stars?" "Forty-five!" shouted the large flags.
The little ones said nothing.
"Ah, I see," said Old Glory, "but you are not to blame. Do you see that open transom?" he went on. "Go through it into the street, put your staffs into the hands of any little boys you find and bring them here."
"Yes, captain," called the flags, as they fluttered away.
Last of all, Old Glory pulled his silken stripes into the hallway and waited for the flags to come back. "It's much too cold for little girls," he said to himself. "Their pretty noses might freeze."
By and by the flags came back, each bringing a small boy. Old Glory looked at them.
"What's the matter?" said he; "you don't seem pleased."
No one spoke, the little boys stared with round eyes at Old Glory, but held tightly to the flags.
At last one of the flags said: "Please, captain, these are the only little boys we could find."