THE FOURTH OF JULY
B'lindy had said, truly, that "she guessed if Webb got up the Fourth of
July doin's they'd be doin's no one'd forget!"
Webb's "doin's" took the form of a parade--a parade in which the very
young and the very old should take part. At its head Webb himself
would march, with the two recently returned soldiers, one on each side.
The young people would come in costumes depicting the characters of the
men associated with the Island history.
"Mrs. Eaton wants you to help her dress the children, Anne," Miss
Sabrina had announced, the day before the Fourth. "She asked me to ask
you to be at the meeting-house at 9 o'clock.
"Oh, I'd love to," Nancy had responded eagerly.
"It is very nice of her, I am sure," Miss Sabrina had added. "She
_wants_ to be pleasant." And a hint of apology in Miss Sabrina's voice
made Nancy suddenly think that perhaps Mrs. Eaton was not _always_
pleasant.
She remembered that B'lindy had added the Eaton name to the list of
acquaintances possible to a Leavitt.
The very air of that Fourth of July morning was a-tingle with
excitement. When Nancy turned into the village street it seemed to her
filled with people, all in Sunday-best and holiday spirits. The green
in front of the meeting-house was alive with eager, tumbling youngsters.
Mrs. Eaton, a large woman with what Nancy called a prune mouth and
watery blue eyes, greeted Nancy effusively. Nancy was a "_dear_"--she
said it with a rising squeak--to help her! There wasn't a great deal
to do--the little dears were going to wear white caps and capes and
represent a band of peace; the girls would carry wreaths of white
syringa. _She'd_ thought of it all herself--two days before.
"I'm _so_ glad to be rushed to _death_," she explained, patting down a
small cap on a small head. "Of _course_ you know my Archie is _still_
in Germany!"
Nancy had not known it, nor, indeed, anything about Archie, but she
nodded sympathetically.
"Cyrus Eaton says I'm a _wonder_--just a wonder! But I _suppose_ I
ought to be thankful my Archie's come through without losing any of his
arms or legs! Now, my _dear_, if you'll fix the _rest_ of these
children I'll run down and look at the Indian Chiefs. _Bless_ me, I
don't know _what_ Webb'd do without me. But _then_, I'm glad to do
it--it keeps my _mind_ off Archie." She panted off with a patronizing
smile that took in Nancy and the group of staring youngsters.
To Nancy, whose life had been spent mostly in the big cities of the
world, this glimpse of village life was a novel experience. She loved
it--the spontaneous gaiety of it all, the round-eyed children that
crowded to her, noisily clamoring to have their "things" put on. The
notes of a bugle floated up the street. Fire crackers popped off with
the regularity of machine-gun fire. From every side came loud, eager
voices. She was glad she was a part of it all. As she finished
arranging its cap, she patted each head, just as Mrs. Eaton had done,
but in Nancy's smile there was something that had not been in Mrs.
Eaton's, so she invariably won a quick smile in response.
Suddenly Nancy spied Nonie and Davy, hand in hand, watching the other
children from a little distance. Their childish longing betrayed
itself in the unwonted way their hands clung together, in the
wistfulness of their faces. Nancy hailed them.
"Come along--hurry!" she cried. They ran eagerly to her. Nancy seized
a cape and a cap.
"Dast we?" asked Davy, very gravely.
"Why, of _course_. Quick--take this cap, Davy. Here, Nonie, is a
wreath. Now--stand here--in this line!" She placed them between two
other children. "All of you--faces forward! Be ready for the signal.
Right foot--don't forget."
Mrs. Eaton bustled up. "Everything _ready_, my dear? It's perfectly
_beautiful_--just beautiful!" in breathless staccato. "I wish my
Archie could see it! I'm actually _inspired_!" Her red, moist face
suggested that she had made a mistake in her choice of words. She ran
around the group of children, standing in ragged file, impatiently
awaiting the signal to start. "The little _dears_--just like a
beautiful band of peace!" Suddenly she stared and her face flushed a
darker red. "Nonie Hopworth, how _dared_ you come here!"
Nonie's lips quivered and her eyes went imploringly to Nancy. Davy
tossed his head defiantly. Neither answered.
"_I_ called them, Mrs. Eaton."
Now there was no "my dear" on Mrs. Eaton's tongue. It clicked sharply
against her teeth. She was too outraged, too, to pick her words.
"Get right away!" She seized Davy by the shoulder. "Little
good-for-nothings! This is a patriotic celebration and we don't want
any Hopworth's in it!"
Nancy's eyes blazed. "_Oh_, Mrs. Eaton! _Don't_--they're just
children! They----"
"_You're_ a stranger here in Freedom, Miss Leavitt--I'll be pleased if
you'll let _me_ manage this! I say it's an _insult_ to our heroes to
have Eric Hopworth's young 'uns here--an insult to Freedom's noble
history!" The ruffles on her bosom heaved in her anger. "What'd Eric
Hopworth do for his country! When I think of my Archie----" What she
might have thought did not find expression, because of the pins she was
tearing roughly from Nonie's cape and thrusting between her teeth. "Go
off now," she panted between the shining row. "Go off where you came
from!"
Then, almost simultaneously with the approach of a dishevelled Indian
hollering between cupped hands that "p'rade's goin' start," came Webb's
warning whistle from down the street. Mrs. Eaton straightened to an
appropriate dignity of bearing. She made a waving motion of her arm
toward her little dears that ignored Nancy, standing back, dumb with
the cruelty of it all.
But Nonie's crestfallen face stung Nancy to sudden action. While the
band of peace fluttered wildly back to its position, Nancy, with an arm
about each, moved with the children toward the church. She moved
quickly, too, for a sudden inspiration had seized her. She remembered
three flags on standards in the Sunday-school room. She bade Davy get
them.
"Do _just_ what I tell you," she commanded. "The _cat_!" she threw
over her shoulder.
All Freedom was too intent upon catching a first glimpse of Webb's host
moving up the village street to notice the strange sight of Nancy and
her companions racing through the back yards and fields that skirted
the main thoroughfare. A long tear in Nancy's skirt testified to the
speed with which she had climbed all obstacles. Such was the fire in
her soul that she could have climbed a mountain!
In the shade of a wide maple tree, B'lindy, resplendent in fresh
gingham and her good-as-new-last-year's-hat, watched Webb's "doin's"
with a heart that fluttered with pride. No town in the whole Island
could turn out more folks! But, then, no town on the Island had a
prouder history!
With his badges glittering on the faded blue coat, Webb marched at the
head of his "p'rade" in his uniform of the Grand Army of the Republic.
On either side of him stepped the recently returned soldiers, their
young-old faces turned straight ahead, their worn tunics attesting to
other lines of march through other village streets. Behind them were
the three soldier boys who had not "gone across." In pure enjoyment of
the occasion they had forgotten the resentment against fate that they
had cherished. A group of boys and girls in Indian costume portrayed
that epoch of Freedom's history. One great warrior brandished a
tomahawk that had been dug up in a nearby field and was now kept in a
suitable setting at the post-office. Close at their heels followed
four staid Puritan men, broad white collars pinned over Sunday coats.
Ethan Allen and his brother Ira, beloved heroes of the little Islands,
were there in character. Two lanky lads wore the uniform of 1861.
Mrs. Eaton's "band of peace" in straggling lines, brought up the rear.
Greeted from each side by lusty cheers, through a cloud of dust, to the
tap-a-tap-tap of three proud drummers, the pageant moved down the
street. It had been Webb's plan that the "p'rade" should halt before
the stoop of the hotel, where Mr. Todd, the postmaster, in a collar
much too high and a coat much too tight, waited to give an address of
welcome. But as Webb's eyes roved with pardonable pride over the
fringe of spectators on each side of the line of march, they suddenly
spied an unexpected sight. On the stepping block in front of the
school house stood Nancy, her white skirts blowing, with Nonie and Davy
on each side. And each held, proudly upright, an American flag.
It was a pretty sight--the colors of the flags fluttering over the
three bare heads, the young faces tilted earnestly forward. Webb saw
in it a friendly effort on Miss Anne's part to add to the success of
his "doin's." So as the line of march approached the stepping-block,
he solemnly saluted the three.
Advancing, the returned soldiers also saluted, stiffly. The drummers
lost a beat in order to wave their drumsticks. The Indians gaily
brandished their clubs, the Puritans nodded, the "boys in blue" mimiced
their heroes of the hour with a stiff bending and jerking of their
right arms.
But then and there Mrs. Eaton fell back from her position at the head
of the "band of peace." Nancy, wickedly watching from the corner of a
perfectly innocent appearing eye, saw her give a gasp as she stepped
aside.
Nonie and Davy, exalted into an ecstasy of joy over the part they had
finally played in the celebration, stared in amazement at Nancy's
suppressed peals of laughter, to which she gave way only when the last
wee dove of peace had trailed off toward the hotel. And not only Davy
and Nonie stared; from out of the spectators came Peter Hyde.
"I have cooked my goose--now," giggled Nancy, wiping her eyes and
holding out a hand. "She was _so_ funny! But I have outraged
Freedom's noble history!" Nancy twisted her lips to resemble Mrs.
Eaton's.
"If you'll let me help you down we might hurry and hear some of the
Honorable Jeremiah Todd's oration," suggested Peter Hyde.
Nancy jumped lightly to the ground. "I wouldn't _dare_," she answered.
"Mrs. Eaton only waits to tear me limb from limb! I saw it in her
pallid eye. You don't _know_ what I've done! Davy, you and Nonie
carry these flags carefully back to the Sunday-school. And what do you
say--in celebration of this day--to a swim--this afternoon, at the
Cove!"
They exclaimed their approval of the suggestion. Nonie lingered.
"Do you know what I pretended then?" she asked, affectionately gripping
Nancy's arm. "I pretended I was Joan of Arc, all in white, riding on a
big horse with bugles, calling to my army. Miss Denny read to me all
about it. Oh, it was grand!" She sighed, because the moment had
passed. Davy pranced impatiently.
"Oh, come 'long--stop yer actin' lies!" Then, to Nancy, with a
questioning look that said such fortune seemed too good to be true:
"'_Honest?_' 'Bout the swimmin'."
Nancy nodded mysteriously. "Honest to goodness--at three bells!"
She watched the children scamper away, then turned eyes dark with
indignation to Peter Hyde.
"How can _anyone_ be cruel to children?" she cried. "How can anyone
hurt them?"
Peter did not know what she was talking about, but he agreed with all
his heart.
"Kids--and dogs and cats and--little things," he added. "I shot a
rabbit once when I was fifteen, and when I went up to get it, it was
still breathing, and looked so pitiful and small--I couldn't help but
feel that it hadn't had a chance 'gainst a fellow like me. I had to
kill it then. That was enough for me! I haven't shot--any sort of
living things--like _that_--since!"
His step shortened to Nancy's and together they turned their backs upon
Jeremiah's cheering audience and walked slowly homeward. Her mind
concerned with the children, Nancy told Peter all that had happened--of
finding Nonie in the orchard, of the child's "pretend" games, of her
call upon Liz. Then she concluded with an account of the incident of
the morning mimicing, comically, Mrs. Eaton's outraged manner.
"As if it would hurt her or her Archie or--or anyone else in this old
place to make two youngsters happy," Nancy exclaimed, disgustedly.
"I'm going to do everything I can, while I'm at Happy House, to make up
to them," she finished.
Peter assured her that he wanted to help. How much the desire was
inspired by sympathy for Nonie and Davy or by the winning picture Nancy
made, her rebel strands of red-brown hair blowing across her flushed
cheeks, no one could say. And when at the gate of Happy House they
separated, Peter promising to be on hand at the Cove at four o'clock,
Nancy watched him swing down the road with a pleasant sense of
comradeship.