Elsie Baker was sitting on a log in the wood-shed, gloomily listening to her brother Joe, who was talking with much enthusiasm.
"For I tell you, sir," said he to Elsie, "it isn't every boy who'll get a chance to be in that percession to-night, sir. There'll be a thousand torches, and speeches, and fire-works; and the train leaves Porter's Corner at six o'clock; and Mr. Hill says to me, 'You be on hand, Joe, you and Jack Stone, and you may go to Portland along of the "Continentals," and march each side of the flag, and wear white rubber capes, and carry a torch apiece if you like.' It's to be the biggest show of the season, and—"
"I can't go," burst in Elsie. "Just because I'm a girl I can never go anywhere or see anything."
"Of course not," assented Joe, cheerfully. "Girls never can. I go because father's in Ohio, and I'm the man of the family. I declare I shouldn't wonder if half the people in Portland should think Jack and I could vote when they see us percessing. Three cheers for Hanfield!"
Hanfield? Hanfield? That did not sound quite right. Joe meditated. Hanfield? Well, never mind. There was no time to waste over names. If Joe would help toward the election of a President of the United States, he must be off and away for Jack Stone, or the two would miss the train.
And Elsie? Poor little Elsie was left forlorn. She was quite alone, for her mother had gone to visit a sick neighbor, and would not even be at home for tea.
"Oh, why shouldn't a girl do just what her brother does, and have some fun?" thought Elsie, bitterly. "Or else why wasn't I born a boy?"
She sat close to the andirons in front of the wood fire, and more and more dismal did she grow. She had nearly come to wondering whether it was really worth while to live if one had to be only a girl, when the front door burst open, and in bounced Master Joe.
"Elsie," cried he, grasping her by the arm, "here's your chance. You can go."
"Go? go?" repeated Elsie, flushing crimson with excitement.