CHAPTER XIV THE-FOURTH-OF-JULY.

A WEEK of lovely weather made us forget time. We spent our days in the open air, and Minerva spent her days practising for the concert. It was wonderful with what expedition she cooked our meals and cleaned up afterward. The meals were, if anything, more delicious than formerly. She was happy, and she could not help communicating some of her happiness to her cooking. It was not so much the thing she cooked, as the happy way she cooked it.

James was a sort of Luther Burbank in his power over plants. One afternoon I said to Ethel in his hearing that I thought it was a pity that the Wheelocks had not planted a vine in front of the house, as it would have added greatly to its picturesqueness.

He was oiling his lawn mower at the time, and I noticed that he stood up and looked at the house front and nodded his head and smiled, but I would not have thought of it again had it not been for the fact that two days after, on returning from a drive with Ethel, we both burst out into ejaculations of surprise and delight.

The front of the house, up to the second-story window, was adorned by a most beautiful crimson rambler.

I felt like rubbing my eyes. We must have lost our way. It could not be our house.

But just then Minerva and James came around the corner of the house, hand in hand. As soon as they saw us they let go of hands, and she went back to the kitchen with a guffaw that merely indicated light heartedness.

James looked up at the vine and said,

“Looks pretty nice, don’t it?”

We overwhelmed him with compliments, and found out that he had bought a large potted plant in full bloom and had sunk pot and all in the earth. I had never heard of such a thing being done before, and I looked to see the roses all wither, but they did nothing of the kind. Our place looked a hundred per cent. better than it had done before, and when, a day or so later, I received a bill from a florist at Egerton, I paid it without a murmur. There is nothing like initiative, and it is worth paying for.

As I say, the days went by unheeded. We were too far from any church to attend one, but we tried to be as good on Sunday as we were on week days.

And this, by the way, is a most excellent rule for anyone to follow.

One morning I heard what sounded like pistol shots in the distance, many times repeated, and while we were at breakfast one or two teams passed us headed for Egerton.

“I wonder if haying is over as soon as this?” said Ethel. “I thought that horses were all at work in the fields.”

“Not this morning, evidently,” said I as another team, a two-horse one this time, went by, loaded with children.

“Oh, it’s a picnic,” said I, and then we heard a loud explosion in the opposite quarter from that of the last pistol shot.

I looked at Ethel, and we burst out laughing together.

“Fourth-of-July!”

“Of course! What geese we are. Oh, let’s go down town and see what they are doing!”

“Why, we can hear it up here. That’s all they are doing,” said I.

“No, I’ve always read about Fourth-of-July in the country. Don’t you remember Tom Bailey, in the ‘Story of a Bad Boy’? Let’s go down and join in the fun.”

“Probably Bert’s gone with his family. We’d have to walk.”

“Hello! here’s someone driving up to the post. Why, it’s James with a two-seated wagon!”

Just then Minerva came into the room, dressed up in her Sunday best and with an assortment of colored ribbons that made her look like a fair.

“Will there be anything to do to-day, ma’am? I’ve made lunch.”

“Where do you want to go, Minerva?” said Ethel.

“Why, James is just crazy to take me down to town to see the parade.”

“Who else is going?”

“No one on’y him an’ me. He brought his father’s wagon.”

“I guess there’ll be no objection, Minerva,” said Ethel. “When will you be back?”

“Oh, time for dinner.”

“Yes, you may go Minerva,” said Ethel, and Minerva clapped her hands. “Country ain’t so bad when you know it,” said she.

She went out into the kitchen, and I said,

“I have a kind of notion that James is going to invite us to go down with them. Now that would be extremely simple and would probably strike Mrs. Guernsea as being very original, but I think it will be better if I hire his rig and get him to drive us down and we’ll stay there all day and take dinner at the hotel, and come back by moonlight.”

Ethel took a turn at hand clapping.

“You’re a great deal better than when we came up, aren’t you?” said I.

“Oh, I’m all well now, and perfectly happy.”

I went out and said to James,

“James, can I hire your father’s team for to-day? and then I’d like you to drive us to town and bring us back to-night. We’ll dine at the hotel and you and Minerva can dine where you like.”

Whatever James’ idea may have been, he was not above earning an honest dollar, and I offered him two for the use of his team, and a half hour later we started for town.

His father had raised the horses himself (well-matched and handsome sorrels), and under James’ guidance they made nothing of the three-mile drive.

It was exhilarating to go through the air at such a pace, and we were both glad we had come, although we were both ashamed that we had forgotten what day it was.

Arrived in town, James put the horses up at a stable, and we broke up into groups of two.

I had never seen Minerva in such spirits, and it seemed to me that she clung to James’ arm in a way that signified something approaching an understanding between them. What if he married her? How could we find work for him in New York?

She almost danced along, and his own stride was to a certain extent cake-walkey. We saw them enter an ice cream saloon immediately, and we knew they would be happy all day long.

There was joy in the air and we were happy. There is no question about it; as a people we are beginning to take our holidays less sadly. Everywhere laughing groups were forming on the sidewalks of Main street to wait for the parade, which was to be made up not only of G. A. R. men, but also of representatives from nearly every fire company in the county. Engines and hooks and ladders had been coming in on the railroad all the morning, and, as I said to Ethel, I trembled when I thought of what might happen in their absence. She characteristically advised me not to tremble too much.

Blue coated, peak hatted men jostled slouch hatted veterans of the Civil War and younger men in khaki hurried to headquarters to make part of the parade.

Small boys were firing off lock-jaw pistols and smaller boys were exploding firecrackers and already that morning there had been a delightful fire in a fireworks store. Thanks to the visiting firemen it had been put out before the store was entirely consumed. Every one had been intensely gratified at the excitement excepting the owner who had reckoned on having his fireworks set off in other places than his own store. There was no chance for his rockets to show to advantage. However, he was fully insured and he showed his American spirit by hiring an empty store and doing a good business for the rest of the day in selling wet fireworks at a discount. Small boys found that fifty per cent of the crackers in a package would go off in spite of their exposure to water and as two cents a package was his prevailing price they were willing to buy to the extent of their Fourth-of-July fortunes.

To our city eyes the parade was not very imposing but then again viewed as a spectacle of American manhood it was not without its interest and the company of smoothshaven, tanned cheeked veterans of the Philippine War marching sturdily along provoked tremendous cheers from many who in the nature of things must have been “antis.”

All men are or ought to be expansionists on the Fourth-of-July. It is a day for fine feeling and for feeling fine. Ethel responded to its spirit nobly and she had not looked so well in years.

Once we heard loud laughter from the crowd and I instinctively said “Minerva,” and sure enough they were laughing at our maid. She or James had bought an American flag and she had wrapped it around her shoulders and was rising and falling on the balls of her feet in response to some internal rhythm. All at once she broke out into the singing of Dixie in which she was joined first by James and then by the entire crowd. Those who could not sing cheered and if there were any Southerners present it must have warmed the cockles of their hearts.

There is no doubt that the most popular song in the United States to-day (outside of “America” which is popular by tradition) is Dixie which was composed and written by a Northerner, fused into life by Southerners and now serves to show that we are Americans all.

After the parade those of us who could made our way to the Town Hall where the Declaration of Independence was to be read and where speeches were to be made quite in the old fashioned way.

Ethel had never heard the Declaration of Independence read. Fancy! Neither had I.

It seemed rather long but we liked the sentiments in it and it was read by a man who knew his business; the rector of the Episcopal Church.

Those who had a special pull were admitted to the platform. I worked no wires. In fact Ethel wanted to sit where she could leave the house easily if she felt faint so we were in the rear.

James evidently had a pull for he and Minerva sat on the platform. I was glad to see it because surely the Fourth-of-July is—well it is not necessary to say more.

Most of the speeches were very long and the place was very hot but there was one speech that was full of flowery eloquence that I had supposed had faded from the earth.

I am indebted to the courtesy of the editor of the Egerton Ensign for its text and I give it herewith so that future ages may see that, as late as the year 1903, Demosthenian eloquence had not passed away.

The speaker was a member of the State Legislature and he still clung to Burnside whiskers—or to be more accurate they still clung to him. He had a high forehead that continued unabashed over to his collar.

He rose amid considerable handclapping and advancing to the front of the platform he bowed solemnly to the multitude and then in a voice that was rich and sonorous and musical he said:

“One hundred and twenty-seven years ago to-day a nation was born upon earth.

“Ladies and gentlemen, need I tell you what the name of that Nation was? Need I say to any boy or to any girl or to any man or to any woman in this vast assemblage what the name of that nation was?

“No, ev-er-y boy and ev-er-y girl and ev-er-y man and ev-er-y woman knows that I refer to these free and independent United States of America. (Cheers).

“Born amid the thunder of warring guns (sic) and nursed upon bullets she grew to lusty childhood, advanced to sweet womanhood and in her turn, upon that other day to be held in remembrance—upon Dewey day—she became the mother of a child—a child that it is our duty to cherish and to educate and to uplift and to protect until she is as American as her mother.

“Need I say that I refer to the Philippines?” (Cheers mingled with a few hisses). He had now warmed to his work and his studied eloquence gave way to something more sincere.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we warred with England in the days of old and I remember the time when it was thought to be unpatriotic for an American to like an Englishman but I say let us be magnanimous. Let us not any longer taunt England with her defeat. Those soldiers that she sent to harry and to bully and to cripple us are dead long ago. They did what they had sworn to do when they took oath under that despicable despot George the Third. When they fought us they were doing their duty as they saw it and their dust has mingled with the free soil of this great country these many years.

“Let us be magnanimous. Why even in those dark days we were not without friends on the other side. The name of William Pitt should ever be spoken with respect by true Americans.

“Let us be magnanimous. Are we likely to go to war with England? (thunders of Nos from all parts of the house).

“No, gentlemen, we are not likely to go to war with that country. Right or wrong she was our mother and we are the greatest credit to her that ever a daughter was to a mother. From the sea-kissed shores of the coast of Maine to the ocean lapped coast of California; from the storm swept areas of the great lakes to the humid waters of the Gulf of Mexico we are the greatest daughter that a mother ever had.

“Was Greece great? We shall be greater.

“Was Rome powerful? We shall be more powerful.

“Were the Middle Ages renowned for their arts? We shall be more renowned.

“Was England strong upon sea or land? We shall be more strong.

“Has England stood for internal fair play? We shall stand for external fair play.

“This country that was mocked and taunted within the memory of men yet living shall become one, who with power to mock does not mock. She shall spread abroad her hand and wars shall cease. The oppressed in all climes shall look to her for protection and she will protect.

“I hear voices borne on the summer wind of this day and they bring good tidings to me. They tell me that the right to work for a fair wage shall belong to each man and each woman who chooses to exercise it. They tell me—these voices—that the right to stop others from working shall be taken from those who think they hold it (Hear, hear) and that the right of the rich to eternally grab is no right.

“These voices tell me that the arts have found in these United States a soil in which they may flourish undisturbed. The blood of the Italians who have come to this country, mixed with the blood of the Poles and cooled by the blood of those of the North lands, tempered still more by the sturdy common sense of the Britons, made buoyant by the wit of the French and made strong and powerful by the blood of the three century old Americans will result in a type of man that shall cause our houses to become beautiful; that shall save our forests from destruction, that shall decorate and color and cause to blossom and run to ripe fruitage all that makes life cultivated, pure, serene and lovable.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let us thank God that we are Americans; that we have been allowed to live to see this day. There are strifes and rumours of strifes in our land but everything tends to betterment, and I firmly believe that at the last we shall be found to be the chosen people of the Lord of All Things by whom all things were made.”

(Cheers, and thunders of applause, in which I am free to say that Ethel and myself joined heartily.)

In fact, although the speech was over flowery, it had in it a good deal that any fair-minded man could say amen to and delivered under the influence of the deep baritone of a natural orator it was stimulating.

And then some one, with no sense of the fitness of things, rose and called on all to sing “Nearer, My God, to Thee.”

The millennium is not as close as all that. We still have the question of the rights of labour and the wrongs of capital with us, and a better hymn might have been selected.

“Onward, Christian Soldiers,” would have been more in the spirit of the time.

We made our way out, and as I was leaving the hall I looked back and saw the orator of the day shaking hands with James. It gave me a choky feeling, so that perhaps I was still under the influence of his speech.

I will acknowledge that I set down the speech in this place in order to make fun of it, but after all it was sincere, and sincerity makes a poor butt for the shafts of ridicule.

During the afternoon we took a drive in James’s wagon, and saw something of the beauty of the surrounding country, going quite a distance on the road to Springfield. We returned to Egerton by the upper road, and I had all I could do to keep the horses under control, as that end of the town was given up to the small boy, and pistols, crackers and bombs were being exploded on every hand.

One of those hideous things that knock the romance out of any spot in which they are placed, a merry-go-round, was revolving to the sound of wheezy organ music, and the horses were of one mind with us as to its being a blot on civilization, and they proceeded to show their distaste for it to such an extent that I stopped them short and let Ethel get out. Then I forced them to stand still and watch the moving picture. They obeyed me for a few seconds and then they tore down the street. I controlled them very soon, however, and when I had stopped them I hitched them to a post on a quiet square and went back to get Ethel.

I found her by a tree, looking with amusement at the carrousel. My eyes followed hers, and the picture presented to them was eminently characteristic.

James was riding on the merry-go-round. He was astride of a small wooden pony that gave his legs a chance to look unduly long, while perched alongside of him sat Minerva astride of a giraffe. She was clinging to the neck of the beast, and for the time being she was in New York (for Coney Island is to all intents and purposes New York and your merry-go-round is the strawberry mark that identifies Coney Island).

Round and round she whirled, her eyes shining ecstatically, and from time to time she reached out her right hand and met James’s left.

“We will have to keep a butler next winter,” said Ethel.

Suddenly Minerva saw us and she waved her hand to us and yelled something that we could not distinguish, but I knew it was an invitation to mount some strange animal and be happy.

We shook our heads. Happiness would not come to us in those questionable shapes. When I want to be sea-sick give me the ocean and a European port as the reward, not merely sickness for sickness’ sake. And Ethel is of the same mind only more so. She goes so far as to say, give her some American port and leave the sea and its sickness out altogether.

The music dwindled, the merry-go-round became less merry, and at last ceased to go round, and then Minerva, settling her ample skirts so as to cover the flanks of the giraffe, said,

“Oh, Mis. Vernon, I ain’t had so much fun this summer. Better come up. It’s jus’ as easy.”

“I’m glad you like it, Minerva,” said Ethel, “but it would make me dizzy. Have you had lunch?”

“Deed we have. Want some peanuts?”

The offer was made with such generosity of spirit that Ethel accepted. It was the Fourth-of-July, and we all ate peanuts together. I don’t think that James liked it. He felt that Minerva had not been well brought up. I am sure that he would not have asked us to eat peanuts, but I don’t see that any harm was done. There was no cloth spread and I have never yet come across a rule that says a lady of color on a giraffe should not offer peanuts to her mistress on the sidewalk of a New England town.

Anyway the peanuts were good and we enjoyed them.

We told James and Minerva to have a good time and to be ready to start for home at half past nine. There was to be a display of fireworks at eight, and I knew they would want to see that. It was somewhere in the neighbourhood of five o’clock when we left them and drove back to the stable.

The fireworks display was beautiful, although not lavish. I listened for Minerva’s rapturous Ah’s, but did not hear them, and as the circle in which we sat was not more than an eighth of a mile in diameter, I judged that for some unaccountable reason she was not there.

After the exhibition, which ended with a flight of a hundred rockets, one of which stove in a plate-glass window and so provided extra amusement for the crowd, we made our way to the stable, expecting to find James there, but he was not.

We found our wagon under a shed and we climbed in and waited, as Ethel was tired of being on her feet.

We waited until ten o’clock and James and Minerva did not come, so I asked a hostler to harness up, and telling him to keep James and Minerva if they came, we went forth to look for them.

I had a theory as to where they were, and I drove to Doncaster street, whereon the merry-go-round stands.

My instinct as to the whereabouts of the couple proved correct. There, under the flare of gasoline torches, whirled the merry-go-round, and now James was astride of an ostrich and Minerva, like Una, was riding a lion by his side and their hands were clasped in a firm, firm clasp.

I caught the eye of James and signalled, and when the music came to an end and the machine stopped, he and his lady love dismounted.

When we were all in the carriage Ethel said to Minerva,

“How did you enjoy the fireworks?”

She threw herself back in the seat with a gasp.

“Lawdy, forgot all ’bout the fireworks.”

“You don’t mean to say, Minerva, that you have been riding ever since we saw you this afternoon.”

“’Deed we have. Rode every beas’ an’ bird there was.”

“And what did you have for supper?”

“Peanuts,” said James, rather shamefacedly.