ortrait above it. Flint seemed almost to hear the voice
of the dying sea-captain whispering: "God bless you, Ruth--I wish I
had understood you better!"

Upon his exalted mood the morning voice of a barnyard cock broke
mockingly.

"Pshaw!" he exclaimed, "what a fool I am!--and at my age, too. I am
ashamed. And, by the way, we never took back Dr. Beetle's--no--Dr.
Cricket's spectacles. Well-to-morrow will answer as well."

CHAPTER VI

THE GLORIOUS FOURTH

_Extract from the Journal of Miss Susan Standish. Nepaug, July 4, 189-._

A holiday, for some reason or other, is always longer than other days,
even for people like me who live a life of ease and comparative
idleness, and who can make every day a holiday by abstaining from
unnecessary and self-imposed work. It certainly is curious that this
morning we rose an hour later, by way of compliment to our ancestors,
who doubtless rose several hours earlier than usual on the day we
celebrate, and certainly did a hard day's work.

After breakfast Mr. Anstice read the Declaration of Independence
aloud, signatures and all. Then Jimmy recited part of a highly
patriotic address, beginning, "Give up the Union? Never!" He worked
his arm in the gestures with all the grace and agility of a
pump-handle. His voice, to be sure, came out very strong on the
prepositions and conjunctions, and sank to a whisper on the explosive
climaxes; but we all voted it a masterpiece of elocution, and his
father really thought so. When these exercises were over, Dr. Cricket
and I played a game of chess, in which he insisted that I should take
the part of the British, while he represented the Americans.

In spite of a severe struggle with my patriotic emotions, I felt
compelled to do justice to the side thus thrust upon me, and I
conducted my campaign with such vigor, that it was Washington who was
compelled to hand over his sword to Cornwallis, and I swept the last
American pawn triumphantly off the board as the dinner-bell rang.

The afternoon rather dragged. I came to the conclusion that the secret
of the length of a holiday lies in the severity of the effort to enjoy
one's self. At our age the truest happiness lies in absorption in
work,--a kind of active and bustling Nirvana. Having come to this
conclusion, I pulled out the golf-stockings I am knitting for Ben, and
fell to work, with the result that it was tea-time before I knew