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