the grand stand opposite, the shops, and the bank, all
fluttered with gay colors. Children shouted and scampered everywhere;
gathered in fascinated groups about the ice-cream and candy and popcorn
booths that sprang up at every corner; met arriving cousins and aunts
at the train; ran on last-minute errands. Occasionally a whole package
of exploding firecrackers smote the warm still air.

By half-past ten every window on the line of march, every dooryard and
porch, had its group of watchers. Wagons and motor-cars, from the
surrounding villages and ranches, blocked the side streets. It was very
warm, and fans and lemonade had a lively sale.

From the two available windows of the Mail office, three persons, as
eager as the most eager child, watched the gathering crowds, and waited
for the Flower Parade. They were Mrs. Apostleman, stately in black
lace, and regally fanning, Sidney Burgoyne, looking her very prettiest
in crisp white, with a scarlet scarf over her arm, and Barry Valentine,
who looked unusually festive himself in white flannels. All three were
in wild spirits.

"Hark, here they come!" said Sidney at last, drawing her head in from a
long inspection of the street. She had been waving and calling
greetings in every direction for a pleasant half-hour. Now eleven had
boomed from the town-hall clock, and a general restlessness and
wiltedness began to affect the waiting crowds.

Barry immediately dangled almost his entire length across the window
sill, and screwed his person about for a look.

"H'yar dey come, li'l miss, sho's yo' bawn!" he announced joyfully.
"There's the band!"

Here they came, sure enough, under the flags and garlands, through the
noonday heat. Only vague brassy notes and the general craning of necks
indicated their approach now; but in another five minutes the uniformed
band was actually in view, and the National Guard after it,
tremendously popular, and the Native Sons, with another band, and the
veterans, thin, silver-headed old men in half a dozen carriages, and
more open carriages. One held the Governor and his wife, the former
bowing and smiling right and left, and saluted by the rising school
children, when he seated himself in the judges' stand, with the shrill,
thrilling notes of the national anthem.

And then another band, and--at last!--the slow-moving, flower-covered
carriages and motors, a long, wonderful, brilliant line of them.
White-clad children in rose-smothered pony-car