“There is one slight objection to that,—it wouldn’t be an American flag,” replied Marcus.
“Well, I don’t pretend to know much about the science of flags,” said Jessie, smiling.
“You must have just thirteen stripes and thirty-two stars; didn’t you know that?” inquired Ronald.
“The outside stripes must be red,” continued Marcus. “That gives us seven red and six white stripes. The field for the stars should be square, and of just the width of the first seven stripes.”
“This is right, then, as it is, and I don’t see how we can make it any smaller without spoiling it,” said Jessie.
“I think it will bear shortening a little,” added Marcus, “and that will make it look smaller, and give it better proportions, too. It should be just one-half longer than it is broad. For instance, if it is four feet broad, it should be six feet long. Let us measure it, and see how it is.”
The flag was found to be too long, as Marcus suspected. So Jessie cut off the superfluous part, mended the rents, added three new stars to the field, and it was pronounced fit for service. Before sunrise, the next morning, it was run up to the top of the staff on the barn, amid the shouts of the boys. Soon after, the family were startled by a loud report from behind the barn. All ran to ascertain the cause, and it was found to proceed from a small cannon which Ronald had procured, in order to add eclat (which in this case means noise) to his celebration of Washington’s birth-day. He had kept this little secret entirely to himself, intending to surprise the family with this new proof of his patriotism. But the surprise did not prove quite so pleasant as he anticipated; for Marcus quickly took possession of the cannon and ammunition, and the young patriot found himself so severely condemned by all the family for playing with powder without leave, that he burst into tears, and betook himself for a while to the uncensuring society of the cows in the barn. So the bright sun of his hopes went into a cloud before breakfast!
It was noticed by all that Jessie did not eat much at the table that morning, and she did not appear to be in her usual good spirits. Ronald, too, was uncommonly sober, and altogether it did not seem much like a holiday. The flag, however, which was visible for a considerable distance, soon drew together several of the boys and girls of the neighborhood, and Ronald’s lengthened countenance gradually assumed its wonted form. Among the visitors was Henry, Jessie’s brother, who, after a while, inquired for his sister. Ronald went in search of her, but no one could tell him where she was. At length, having looked everywhere else, he ran up stairs, and thoughtlessly opened her chamber door, without asking permission. Jessie was there, and as the door opened, she closed a book that she held, with a startled look, and Ronald saw very plainly that she had been weeping, although she quickly turned her face away. Frightened at the impropriety of which he had been guilty, in thus intruding upon her privacy, he made a ludicrous attempt at apology.
“I—I didn’t know you were here,” he said; “but I’ve been hunting for you all over the house. Henry is down stairs, and wants to see you.”
“You may ask him to come up here,” replied Jessie, without turning her face towards Ronald.