She knew Mr. Simpson
well, and a pleasanter man was seldom to be met. She recalled an
afternoon when he came home and surprised the whole school
playing the Revolutionary War in his helter-skelter dooryard, and
the way in which he had joined the British forces and
impersonated General Burgoyne had greatly endeared him to her.
The only difficulty was to find proper words for her delicate
mission, for, of course, if Mr. Simpson's anger were aroused, he
would politely push her out of the wagon and drive away with the
flag. Perhaps if she led the conversation in the right direction
an opportunity would present itself. Clearing her throat
nervously, she began:--
"Is it likely to be fair to-morrow?"
"Guess so; clear as a bell. What's on foot; a picnic?"
"No; we're to have a grand flag-raising!" ("That is," she
thought, "if we have any flag to raise!")
"That so? Where?"
"The three villages are to club together and have a rally, and
raise the flag at the Centre. There'll be a brass band, and
speakers, and the Mayor of Portland, and the man that will be
governor if he's elected, and a dinner in the Grange Hall, and we
girls are chosen to raise the flag."
"I want to know! That'll be grand, won't it?" (Still not a sign
of consciousness on the part of Abner.)
"I hope Mrs.
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