Rebecca thought she had suffered enough from that process already
during the last twelve hours, but she put out an obedient hand

and the two withdrew.
Now Miss Dearborn was, I fear, a very indifferent teacher. Dr.

Moses always said so, and Libbie Moses, who wanted her school,
said it was a pity she hadn't enjoyed more social advantages in

her youth. Libbie herself had taken music lessons in Portland;
and spent a night at the Profile House in the White Mountains,

and had visited her sister in Lowell, Massachusetts. These
experiences gave her, in her own mind, and in the mind of her

intimate friends, a horizon so boundless that her view of
smaller, humbler matters was a trifle distorted.

Miss Dearborn's stock in trade was small, her principal virtues
being devotion to children and ability to gain their love, and a

power of evolving a schoolroom order so natural, cheery, serene,
and peaceful that it gave the beholder a certain sense of being

in a district heaven. She was poor in arithmetic and weak in
geometry, but if you gave her a rose, a bit of ribbon, and a

seven-by-nine looking-glass she could make herself as pretty as a
pink in two minutes.

Safely sheltered behind the pines, Miss Dearborn began to
practice mysteriousfeminine arts. She flew at Rebecca's tight

braids, opened the strands and rebraided them loosely; bit and
tore the red, white, and blue ribbon in two and tied the braids

separately. Then with nimble fingers she pulled out little
tendrils of hair behind the ears and around the nape of the neck.

After a glance of acute disapproval directed at the stiff balloon
skirt she knelt on the ground and gave a strenuousembrace to

Rebecca's knees, murmuring, between her hugs, "Starch must be
cheap at the brick house!"

This particular line of beauty attained, there ensued great
pinchings of ruffles, her fingers that could never hold a ferrule

nor snap children's ears being incomparable fluting-irons.
Next the sash was scornfully untied and tightened to suggest

something resembling a waist. The chastened bows that had been
squat, dowdy, spiritless, were given tweaks, flirts, bracing

little pokes and dabs, till, acknowledging a master hand, they
stood up, piquant, pert, smart, alert!

Pride of bearing was now infused into the flattened lace at the
neck, and a pin (removed at some sacrifice from her own toilette)

was darned in at the back to prevent any cowardly lapsing. The
short white cotton gloves that called attention to the tanned

wrist and arms were stripped off and put in her own pocket. Then
the wreath of pine-cones was adjusted at a heretofore unimagined

angle, the hair was pulled softly into a fluffy frame, and
finally, as she met Rebecca's grateful eyes she gave her two

approving, triumphant kisses. In a second the sensitive face
lighted into happiness; pleased dimples appeared in the cheeks,

the kissed mouth was as red as a rose, and the little fright that
had walked behind the pine-tree stepped out on the other side

Rebecca the lovely.
As to the relative value of Miss Dearborn's accomplishments, the

decision must be left to the gentle reader; but though it is
certain that children should be properly grounded in mathematics,

no heart of flesh could bear to hear Miss Dearborn's methods
vilified who had seen her patting, pulling, squeezing Rebecca

from ugliness into beauty.
The young superintendent of district schools was a witness of the

scene, and when later he noted the children surrounding Columbia
as bees a honeysuckle, he observed to Dr. Moses: "She may not be

much of a teacher, but I think she'd be considerable of a wife!"
and subsequent events proved that he meant what he said!

II
Now all was ready; the moment of fate was absolutely at hand; the

fife-and-drum corps led the way and the States followed; but what
actually happened Rebecca never knew; she lived through the hours

in a waking dream. Every little detail was a facet of light that
reflected sparkles, and among them all she was fairly dazzled.

The brass band played inspiring strains; the mayor spoke
eloquently on great themes; the people cheered; then the rope on

which so much depended was put into the children's hands, they
applied superhuman strength to their task, and the flag mounted,

mounted, smoothly and slowly, and slowly unwound and stretched
itself until its splendid size and beauty were revealed against

the maples and pines and blue New England sky.
Then after cheers upon cheers and after a patrioticchorus by the

church choirs, the State of Maine mounted the platform, vaguely
conscious that she was to recite a poem, though for the life of

her she could not remember a single word.
"Speak up loud and clear, Rebecky," whispered Uncle Sam in the

front row, but she could scarcely hear her own voice when,
tremblingly, she began her first line. After that she gathered

strength and the poem "said itself," while the dream went on.
She saw Adam Ladd leaning against a tree; Aunt Jane and Aunt

Miranda palpitating with nervousness; Clara Belle Simpson gazing
cross-eyed but adoring from a seat on the side; and in the far,

far distance, on the very outskirts of the crowd, a tall man
standing in a wagon--a tall, loose-jointed man with red upturned

mustaches, and a gaunt white horse headed toward the Acreville
road.

Loud applause greeted the state of Maine, the slender little
white-clad figure standing on the mossy boulder that had been

used as the centre of the platform. The sun came up from behind a
great maple and shone full on the star-spangled banner, making it

more dazzling than ever, so that its beauty drew all eyes upward.
Abner Simpson lifted his vagrant shifting gaze to its softy

fluttering folds and its splendid massing of colors, thinking:
"I don't know's anybody'd ought to steal a flag--the thunderin'

idjuts seem to set such store by it, and what is it, anyway?
Nothin; but a sheet o' buntin!"

Nothing but a sheet of bunting? He looked curiously at the rapt
faces of the mothers, their babies asleep in their arms; the

parted lips and shining eyes of the white-clad girls; at Cap'n
Lord, who had been in Libby prison , and Nat Strout, who had left

an arm at Bull Run; at the friendly, jostling crowd of farmers,
happy, eager, absorbed, their throats ready to burst with cheers.

Then the breeze served, and he heard Rebecca's clear voice
saying:

"For it's your star, my star, all the stars together,
That make our country's flag so proud

To float in the bright fall weather!"
"Talk about stars! She's got a couple of em right in her head,"

thought Simpson. . . . "If I ever seen a young one like that
lyin; on anybody's doorstep I'd hook her quicker'n a wink, though

I've got plenty to home, the Lord knows! And I wouldn't swap her
off neither. . . . Spunky little creeter, too; settin; up in the

wagon lookin' bout's big as a pint o' cider, but keepin' right
after the goods! . . . I vow I'm bout sick o' my job! Never WITH

the crowd, allers JEST on the outside, s if I wa'n't as good's
they be! If it paid well, mebbe I wouldn't mind, but they're so

thunderin' stingy round here, they don't leave anything decent
out for you to take from em, yet you're reskin' your liberty n'

reputation jest the same! . . . Countin' the poor pickin's n' the
time I lose in jail I might most's well be done with it n' work

out by the day, as the folks want me to; I'd make bout's much n'
I don't know's it would be any harder!"