we've got plenty of white towel, while red ribbon is a little
scarce."

Another perplexing question arose when Peggy had sacrificed the dark
blue sailor collar of an old blouse, to form the blue field in the upper
corner of the flag. "Now we can cut white stars out of paper and sew
them on," exclaimed Peggy, standing back to admire her handiwork. "How
many are there, anyway?"

Nobody was able to answer. Peggy gazed around the circle with a mingling
of indignation and incredulity.

"What! All of us high school girls and not know how many states there
are in the Union! This is really awful. Aunt Abigail, _you_ must
know."

"Dear me, child," replied Aunt Abigail serenely, "I have an impression
that there were in the neighborhood of thirty-six at the time of the
Centennial Exposition. And since then I've lost track."

"I wonder if we could count them up," mused Peggy, wrinkling her
forehead. "Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont--"

"What's the use?" protested Amy. "Who counts the stars on the flag,
anyway? We'll crowd in forty or fifty, enough to pretty well cover the
blue, and it will look all right."

Ruth had a suggestion to offer. "As long as this is a sort of Betsy Ross
flag, why not have thirteen stars, just as she had?"

As this proposal afforded a satisfactory solution to the difficulty, the
thirteen stars were promptly cut from white paper and sewed in place,
and the finished flag was draped above the fireplace. Peggy's
anticipations in regard to its shortcomings had been realized. The red
stripes were not of uniform width, or of the same shade, and the blue
field was a trifle small in proportion to the size of the flag, owing to
the limitations of the original sailor collar. Yet when it was in place,
with the stripes composed of Dorothy's hair-ribbons drawn up
artistically, so that the wrinkles didn't show, the effect was most
impressive. And along with their pride in their success, the girls
experienced that indescribable thrill which is the heart's response to
the challenge of our national emblem.

"Now, girls," Peggy was looking at the clock, "we've got time for just
one thing more before we start to get dinner. Each one of us must write
a patriotic conundrum, and then we'll put them around at each other's
plates, and we'll have to guess them before we can eat a mouthful."

The girls groaned in a dismay half real, half assumed. "I don't see how
a conundrum _can_ be patriotic," objected Claire.

"Oh, if