"Hip, hip, hurrah!"

"Three cheers for the girl who saved the flag from the hands of
the enemy!"

"Hip, hip, hurrah!"

It was the Edgewood minister, whose full, vibrant voice was of
the sort to move a crowd. His words rang out into the clear air
and were carried from lip to lip. Hands clapped, feet stamped,
hats swung, while the loud huzzahs might almost have wakened the
echoes on old Mount Ossipee.
The tall, loose-jointed man sat down in the wagon suddenly and
took up the reins.
"They're gettin' a little mite personal, and I guess it's 'bout
time for you to be goin', Simpson!"
The tone was jocular, but the red mustaches drooped, and the
half-hearted cut he gave to start the white mare on her homeward
journey showed that he was not in his usual reckless mood.
"It's a lie!" he burst out in a vindictive undertone, as the mare
swung into her long gait. "It's a lie! I thought 't was
somebody's wash! I ain't an enemy!"
While the crowd at the raising dispersed in happy family groups
to their picnics in the woods; while the Goddess of Liberty,
Uncle Sam, Columbia, and the proud States lunched grandly in the
Grange Hall with distinguished guests and scarred veterans of two
wars, the lonely man drove, and drove, and drove through silent
woods and dull, sleepy villages, never alighting to replenish his
wardrobe or his stock of swapping material.
At dusk he reached a miserable tumble-down house on the edge of a