She could not keep a
little quaver out of her voice, for, as she went on, all the scenes of
all the times that she had sung that song before came crowding up in her
memory. There were the Thanksgiving days in the church at home, and the
Washington's birthdays at school, and two Decoration days, when, as a
granddaughter of a veteran, she had helped scatter flowers over the
soldiers' graves.
Somehow it made her feel so hopelessly far away from all that made life
dear to be singing of that "sweet land of liberty" in a foreign country,
with only poor little alien Jules for company.
Maybe that is why the boy's first lesson in patriotism was given so
earnestly by his homesick little teacher. Something that could not be
put into words stirred within him, as, looking up at the soft silken
flutterings of the old flag, he listened for the first time to the story
of the Pilgrim Fathers.
The rabbit cooked slowly, so slowly that there was time for Jules to
learn how to play mumble-peg while they waited. At last it was done, and
Joyce proudly plumped it into the platter that had been waiting for it.
Marie had already brought out a bountiful lunch, cold meats and salad
and a dainty pudding. By the time that Joyce had added her contribution
to the feast, there was scarcely an inch of the table left uncovered.
Pages:
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62