Nathalie’s eyes dilated with terror, and her heart pounded with such leaping beats that it almost choked her. She attempted to run, but alas, her limbs seemed tied with ropes, and then she remembered the gun!

Just an instant and she had raised it, and with trembling hands was pointing it at the enemy, who by this time had lightly vaulted the wooden fence and was coming towards her. Nathalie’s hand was feeling for the trigger when, “Oh, don’t shoot!” cried a voice in serio-comic tone, “I surrender!” Up went two hands in pretended subjugation.

The girl gasped, dropped the gun, and then broke into hysterical laughter as she cried, “Oh—is—that you?”

“Yes, it is I; Fred Tyson in the flesh!” rejoined the supposed murderer coolly, as with a stride he was at her side and, stooping picked up the gun.

The reaction was so great that for a moment Nathalie feared she was going to cry, but controlling herself by a strong effort she exclaimed, “Oh, I was sure you were a tramp,” with a nervous giggle, “or a murderer intent on killing me, and then hiding my body in the thicket yonder.” She shuddered.

“Great guns!” Fred exclaimed as he looked the gun over. “It is lucky this thing didn’t go off. By the Lord Harry, how did you come to be carrying it?”

Nathalie, with a long breath of relief that all was well after her fright, then told Fred how she came to be near the graveyard at that time. Then suddenly remembering that she had not a minute to lose, she cried hurriedly, “Oh, let us go on. I am afraid I am too late!”

“You’re all hunky,” returned Fred calmly. “You have plenty of time, for I overheard Mrs. Morrow tell Helen to postpone her Stunt until one of the last.”

“But how did you come to be here, may I ask?” queried Nathalie as they turned to walk up.

“Oh, I was in the next room and heard Helen tell you to go and get something at her house. I started out to offer my services, but some one buttonholed me for the next Stunt; I had forgotten I was in it. As soon as it was over I hurried out to find you, but you had skipped. I rushed after you, missed you, and then remembering that you would return this way as it is the shortest, sat down on one of the tombstones to wait for you. But you’re the stuff, all right, Nathalie Page, you ought to have a medal for bravery.”

He suddenly pointed the gun and then pulled the trigger.

Nathalie gave a shrill scream in a spasm of apprehension, and jumped to one side. “Oh, please, don’t do that, it might be loaded, you know!”

Fred threw his head back and burst into a hearty laugh. “Oh, ho, I see you are not as nervy as I thought,” there was a mischievous glint in his merry black eyes. And then as if ashamed of torturing the nerve-racked girl he cried soothingly, “Don’t you fret, Miss Blue Robin; there isn’t any guess with me, I don’t take chances. I saw it wasn’t loaded when I first picked it up, but come, let’s hurry!”

“Please don’t tell any one I was afraid!” pleaded Nathalie, as they hastened on under the swaying branches of the trees that cast weird, fanciful designs on the moon-mantled path. “They will think me an awful coward and tease me unmercifully.”

Fred assured her that he would keep mum, and added that she was not a coward, but a very brave girl. Then, in response to a challenge to race him to the Hall, they were off, Nathalie by this time having regained her usual poise and nerve. She won the race, for Fred, desiring to be gallant, dropped back a space or two just at the right time, and thus allowed his partner to be the victor in this race of two blocks.

The gun was quickly delivered to Helen and then they hurried into the hall in time to see the portraits of Henry Hudson, Edward Winslow, William Penn, Governor Stuyvesant, and Captain Kidd and Henry Morgan, two pirates of pioneer fame. These colonial portraits were produced by their representatives standing behind a large wooden frame that had been made by the Scouts, gilded by the Pioneers, and then placed in front of a dark curtain.

Helen’s Stunt proved to be a canvas background on which was painted a log cabin. At the door of this pioneer home stood Helen with a baby clinging to her skirts, pointing a gun at a skulking savage just disappearing beyond a very fair representation of a clump of trees. This picture of a mother of the wilderness was loudly encored, as it was significant of the hardy courage displayed by the women of those early days.

The last Stunt showed the Pioneers in line, each one with a big red letter pinned to the skirt of her uniform; the combination making the word “Pioneer Women.” Giving bird-calls, building miniature log-cabins, making camp fires, jumping, throwing the lifeline, as well as making the motions of rowing and swimming, these and many other activities of the organization were performed. The girls ended by falling into line again and singing a farewell Pioneer song.

Mrs. Morrow now came forward, and after thanking the audience for their kind attention and aid in helping make the affair a success by buying tickets and by their presence, she announced that there would be another entertainment, a Flag Drill, to take place on the fourteenth of that month. It would be held in the rear of the home of Mrs. Van Vorst, that lady having kindly offered her lawn for the affair.

The faces of the Pioneers, with the exception of Nathalie’s and Helen’s, expressed unbounded surprise as they heard this announcement. As Fred Tyson and two other Scouts passed slips of paper so that each one present could write her or his opinion as to the best Stunt of the evening, there was a merry clack of tongues as each girl queried how and when this wonderful thing had come to pass.

Lillie Bell, who had been watching Nathalie, suddenly leaned forward crying, “Nathalie Page, I just believe that you know all about it!” Nathalie did her best to look bland and innocent when this accusation was hurled at her, but the query was as a match to fire, and instantly Nathalie was surrounded by a bevy of girls, all eagerly demanding that she tell them how it came about.

“O dear, how should I know?” she demanded with seeming indignation.

“There, I told you she knew,” declared the Sport, who at that moment joined the group. “Her face betrays her! And then she is on the committee.”

Nathalie turned and flashed at Edith angrily, “Well, if I do know I am not going to tell. If you want any information go and ask Mrs. Morrow.” Then feeling that things were growing desperate and that she might reveal what she had striven so hard to keep a secret, she broke from her tormentors and hurried into the hall.

Seeing Helen at that moment she dashed up to her, and grabbing her by the arm cried, “Helen, the girls are tormenting me to tell them about the lawn party; oh, do keep them from asking me again, for I am in mortal terror that I may tell something that should not be told just yet.”

“All right,” soothed her friend, “don’t you bother about the girls finding out, I’ll see to them. But here’s Fred, he wants you to vote. By the way, have you heard that the Sport’s Stunt has so far the greatest number of votes, and—”

But Helen had been carried off by one of the Scouts, and Nathalie turned to find Fred at her side eagerly demanding her vote.

“Why don’t you vote for ‘The First American Wash-Day’?” demanded the young man as he saw Nathalie hesitate and swing her pencil, lost in abstraction. “It will win, I think, and it was a good Stunt, too; well acted out. Edith deserves credit.”

“Do you think so?” flashed Nathalie. She colored angrily. “I do not agree with you. I think—” She stopped, compressed her lips, and then added coolly, “I shall vote for Helen, for I consider her Stunt the best one of the evening.” She wrote the name of the Stunt hurriedly, signed her name, and then handed the card to Fred, who was regarding her with a puzzled expression on his face.

He took the card and turned to go, but seeing that the floor had been cleared for dancing he stopped, and swinging about asked Nathalie if he could have the next dance. Nathalie assented, although she did not feel in the mood for dancing just at that moment.

“You won’t mind waiting a moment, will you?” asked Fred. “I have got to turn in my cards. Then I see this is a square dance, and I want a waltz with you. Are you angry with me?” he asked wonderingly as he saw that Nathalie’s eyes still gleamed fire and that her cheeks were bright red.

The girl looked up at him absently and then, suddenly comprehending that she was acting rather rudely towards this new friend, cried laughing, “Angry with you? Indeed, no! I am angry with—some one,” she added bitterly, her glance suddenly falling on Edith. “But there, return your cards and then we will dance.”

Five minutes later as Fred swung his partner lightly up and down the hall to waltz time, Nathalie forgot all the unpleasant jars of the evening in the enjoyment of the moment. But later, as they hurried out on the veranda for a breath of fresh air, she remembered how rudely she had acted and felt as if she ought to make some kind of an explanation to Fred for her seeming rudeness. Then it suddenly came to her that perhaps he might think she was jealous of Edith. Oh, no, she was not jealous—she was willing Edith should win the highest number of votes, only it did seem a bit hard to have to give all the glory up to some one else, when it rightfully belonged to her, and then Edith had been mean about it.

“Please don’t think I didn’t want Edith to win,” she burst forth as they seated themselves in a cozy corner where she could see the dancers in the hall. “Only—you see it is this way, I—”

But before she could finish, the Tike came rushing up all of a whirl crying, “Oh, Nathalie, your Stunt won! I’m awfully glad!” And she danced up and down in her delight at Nathalie’s success.

“Oh, ‘The First American Wash-Day’ was Edith’s Stunt,” Nathalie hastened to explain, resolved that she would be a martyr to her wounded pride with a good grace.

“That didn’t win the highest vote, but your Stunt did,” retorted Carol jubilantly; “the one with the old Dutchwoman putting the kiddies to bed. And that Dutch lullaby—oh, Nathalie, where did you learn it?”

Before Nathalie could answer Carol had skipped away, leaving the girl with a strange expression on her face as she stared at Fred with mystified eyes. “Do you suppose I really won it?” she demanded after a pause. “I thought you said Edith’s Stunt was the winner.”

“So I heard,” was Fred’s reply. “But then, Miss Nathalie, I am awfully glad your Stunt won. It was a peach, I thought myself, but I heard—”

“Oh, I don’t care about that,” cried Nathalie. There was a quiver to her voice. “I don’t deserve it; oh, I have been awfully mean, and yet I have been calling Edith mean—” She stopped abruptly. How queerly it had turned out!

Catching a rather strange look in her companion’s eyes she exclaimed, “Oh, indeed I was willing that Edith should win—I don’t care a snap about it myself—only, you see it was this way.” She floundered for a moment and then with a sudden catch in her breath leaned towards Fred crying, “If I tell you something, will you swear never to reveal it?” Fred’s face brightened; he was delighted to think Nathalie considered him worthy of her confidence, and lost no time in assuring her of this fact. But the girl was thinking of only one thing, and that was that she was going to break her silence in regard to Edith and unburden herself of what had been causing her a good deal of discomfort all the evening. Nathalie talked rapidly and in a few minutes Fred was in possession of the facts about “The First American Wash-Day,” and how it had come about that although the idea was Nathalie’s, Edith had won the glory of it without the work.

“Say, but you’re game!” declared Fred admiringly, as Nathalie finished her story. “It was a fine thing for you not to tell; I don’t blame you for feeling mean about it. But the Sport had no right to use it—”

“Well, never mind now,” cried Nathalie, “it is all over with and I am glad I didn’t tell any one but you, and you won’t break your word, will you? The word of a Scout, you know,” added the girl archly.

Fred laughingly assured her that his word as a gentleman was sufficient and as binding as that of a Scout. Then as they discussed the Scout oath, its pledges, and so forth, Dr. Homer appeared and asked his little hike-mate if he might have the pleasure of a dance with her.

Nathalie smilingly assured him she would be most happy and then with a good-by to Fred, the quaint little figure in its queer Dutch cap and flowered gown followed the doctor into the hall.

The long anticipated fourteenth of June had arrived, and the level stretch of green grass with its circling hillocks in the rear of the gray house was ablaze with color. Beneath a high arch festooned with the red, white, and blue—the Pioneers’ color again—stood a number of merry girls, each one gowned in white with a scarlet sash, and a red liberty cap, and holding in her hand a flag or small banner.

Every eye as well as tongue was on duty, as each girl triumphantly displayed her flag to her comrades, proudly claiming that it was an exact copy of one of the liberty banners used by the colonies preceding or during the Revolution.

“Hurrah for the Concord flag,” cried Kitty Corwin, as she hoisted up a small maroon banner inscribed with the motto, “Conquer or Die.” “This is one of the oldest flags in America, for it was the one carried when the ‘embattled farmers fired the shot heard round the world’”—she twirled it high in air—“on the 19th of April, 1775, at the first battle of the Revolution!”

“Oh, but your flag hasn’t the romance that mine has,” said Edith, ostentatiously waving a crimson flag fringed at the ends, and with a cord and tassel. “This is the Eutaw flag and was made by Miss Jane Elliot. Col. William Washington—he was a relative or something of little Georgie—when stationed at Charleston, South Carolina, fell in love with Miss Jane. One night, after spending the evening with his lady love, as he bade her good night, she said she hoped to hear good news of his flag and fortune. Whereupon the poor colonel was forced to confess that his corps had no flag. Upon hearing this the young lady pulled down one of the portiÈres, cut it to the right size, fringed it at the ends, stuck it on a curtain pole, and then presented it to her gallant lover, telling him to make it his standard. Of course after that it brought good luck and won a great victory at Cowpens, January, 1781, and another at Eutaw Springs the following September. Forty years later the flag was presented by the hands that made it to the Washington Light Infantry of Charleston, for the fair Jane married the colonel, all right.”

“Well, don’t you girls boast too much,” declared Jessie, “for if it hadn’t been for my flag there wouldn’t have been any banners of liberty to make you patriotic.” And Jessie held up a white flag barred with the scarlet cross of St. George, the flag dear to Merrie Old England as the flag of the people, and beloved by the colonists as the ensign that floated from the little ship Mayflower.

As if to supplement Jessie’s declaration, an Oriole gayly flaunted the Red Ensign of Great Britain with its canton quartered by the cross of St. George and St. Andrew. “This is the flag that followed Jessie’s and was necessarily adopted by the colonists as the flag of the mother country. It was called the Union flag—the two crosses signifying the union of Scotland and England, when King James of Scotland became king—and remained in use in America until the beginning of the Revolution.”

Grace, who had been impatiently waiting to float her flag, now cried, “Away with your old Johnnie Bull flags! Mine is worth a hundred of those old English rags, for it was the first distinctively American flag used by the Colonies, ‘The Pine Tree Flag of New England.’”

“But it has the red cross on the white canton just the same,” ventured Jessie, “and it is red, too.”

“Of course it has the cross on it,” quickly retorted Grace, “for at that time the Colonies still belonged to England; but if you look, my lady, you’ll see that pine in the first quarter of the canton, and that is American all through, every pine on it. It meant that the colonists, although they were English, had a right to representation in the mother country and to a symbol of their own.”

“Well,” persisted Jessie, in whose veins flowed a goodly supply of English blood, “your scrubby old pine was such a poor representation of that noble tree that Charles II asked what it represented—and was told it was an oak.”

“Come, Jessie,” laughed Helen, “that story is a back number. Every one can guess without much effort that the man who told that yarn to the king was a New Englander. He wanted to gain favor with Charles and bluffed him a bit, trying to make out it was a model of the royal oak in which his majesty took refuge after the battle of Worcester.”

“Oh, stop discussing the merits of that old pine and look at my banner,” sang out Louise Gaynor, shaking her flag furiously to and fro so as to get the attention of the girls. “This flag is the Crescent flag and stands for the bravest of the brave. Now listen, and you will all understand what true heroism means.”

The girls, impressed by the Flower’s declaration, grew silent, and gazed curiously at a red banner with a white crescent in the upper corner near the staff. “This flag was designed by Col. Moultrie of the Second Carolina Infantry in 1775. During the siege of Charleston when the flag was shot down, Sergeant William Jasper at the peril of his life recovered it, and held it in place on the parapet until another staff was found. In 1779, at the assault on Savannah, it was again shot from its holdings. Two lieutenants sprang forward and held it in position until they were killed by the enemy’s bullets. Jasper again sprang forward and held the colors up until he, too, was riddled with bullets, and fell into a ditch. As he was dying he seized the flag in his hands and cried, ‘Tell Mrs. Elliot’—she was the wife of one of the majors—‘that I lost my life supporting the colors she gave our regiment.’”

Barbara, who was usually so placid and mild, now grew quite intense as she pointed to her flag, the Cambridge flag, claiming that it was the first flag on this side of the water to float the red and white bars. It signified, she said, that although the colonists were willing to return to the rule of the English, they were a body of armed men fighting for just and equal rights with their brothers who had crossed the sea to whip them into submission. “But they didn’t,” ended Barbara with triumphant eyes. “And this flag, also known as the Union flag—meaning that the colonists stood as a man in their desire for the right—was displayed by Washington in his camp at Cambridge, January 2nd, 1776.”

“Now let me have a chance,” pleaded Nathalie, who had been impatiently waiting to show her design for some time. “My flag has a story, too.” She held up as high as she could a white flag with a rattlesnake in the center. It bore in black letters the name, “The Culpeper Minute Men of Virginia,” the snaky slogan, “Don’t Tread On Me,” and the famous words of its commander, Patrick Henry, “Liberty or Death!”

“Do you see that rattlesnake?” continued Miss Nathalie, as she brought her flag to a standstill and pointed to the snaky emblem. “That has a story—”

“Pooh,” interposed Edith, who was jealously guarding her declaration that her flag was the most beautiful because it had a story. “I don’t see any story about that snaky old thing. Ugh, I never could understand why so many flags had that design.”

“I will tell you why,” declared Nathalie, “because I have looked it up, and—”

“But you are not the only one who has looked up flags,” chimed Jessie, “for my eyes were just about ruined trying to get a merit badge for proficiency in flag history—”

“And for deftness and skill in making our flags,” broke in a Pioneer from the Bob White group.

“I beg your pardon, girls, I know you are all very wise on the subject of flags this morning,” rejoined Nathalie good-naturedly, “but do you know why the rattlesnake was chosen as an ensign?”

She waited a moment, but as no one seemed to know she went on. “The rattlesnake is to be found only in America; my authority is Benjamin Franklin. It is the wisest of the snake family, therefore a symbol of wisdom. Its bright, lidless eyes never close, this signifies vigilance. It never attacks without giving due notice, which meant that the American colonies were on the square. Each rattle is perfect, while at the same time it is so firmly attached to its fellows that it cannot be separated without incurring the ruin of all; each colony was a complete unit in itself, and yet it could not stand unless it had the support of the others. As it ages, the rattles increase in numbers, which meant that it was the fervent desire of the people that the colonies should increase in numbers with the years.”

As Nathalie finished her little lecture, Helen, with a sudden movement, shouldered her flag like a musket, and parting the group of girls, marched jubilantly down the center, crying, “Oh, girls, you have had the floor long enough to tell of the beauties and glories of your paltry banners, but let me tell you, not a flag has won the honors and glories that mine has. Hurrah, girls, for Old Glory!” she ended with a triumphant wave of the Stars and Stripes above their heads.

As if inspired by the sight of the cheery banner so gallantly flung to the breezes by their comrade, the girls with one accord broke into the flag cheer:

“Hear!hear;hearGirlPioneer!
Forflagsodeargiveacheer!
Forthebarsthatarewhiteandred,
Andstarsonblueoverhead
Wehonortheewithacheer!
Hurrah!Hurrah!GirlPioneer!”

Before the echo of the cheer had died in the distance Nathalie cried, “Oh, girls, the first signal!” Immediately these little patriotic Daughters of that which every one holds dear fell into line, and with flags upheld fastened their eyes on a small platform that had been erected in the center of the lawn draped with the national colors, where the Goddess of Liberty had just appeared. Holding up a green branch in her hand she began to walk agitatedly up and down the stage, pausing abruptly every moment or so to peer to the right or left, as if watching for some one.

Suddenly she halted, and with the dramatic gestures of Lillie Bell—for it was she—cried in mournful tone, “‘Is life so dear, or peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!’”

As the tragic intonation of her voice ceased, the band—composed, by the way, of a number of Scouts—burst forth with that old melody, “The Wearing of the Green.” This was another signal, and the girls waiting under the arch began to march slowly towards the stage, while the Goddess in feigned mystification moved quickly from side to side with her hand held to her ear, as if trying to ascertain whence came this martial tune.

But on came the Daughters of Liberty with flashes of white and red, and with banners of many designs and devices. They presented such a brilliant showing that the audience seated in rows on the circling mounds broke into loud applause, which burst into enthusiastic cheers of greeting, as in the bright glare of the sunlight they perceived Old Glory floating far above the heads of the banner bearers as they proudly marched across the green.

When the Goddess perceived this procession of fair damsels she stood apparently in a maze for a moment, and then slowly retreated backward until she stood on the scarlet draped dais with its throne. As the thirteen maids of freedom filed slowly on the platform, forming a half circle before the Goddess, the band struck into that old-time air, “The Liberty Tree,” and a second later every Daughter had chimed in and was singing:

“Inachariotoflightfromtheregionsofday
TheGoddessofLibertycame;
Tenthousandcelestialsdirectedtheway,
Andhitherconductedthedame.
Afairbuddingbranchfromthegardensabove,
Wheremillionsandmillionsagree
Shebroughtinherhandasapledgeofherlove,
AndtheplantshenamedLibertyTree.”