On the rude bench by her cabin door sat Hagar Warren, her black eyes peering out into the woods and her quick ear turned to catch the first sound of bounding footsteps, which came at last, and Maggie Miller was sitting by her side.

“What is it, darling?” Hagar asked, and her shriveled hand smoothed caressingly the silken hair, as she looked into the glowing face of the young girl, and half guessed what was written there.

To Theo Maggie had whispered the words, “I am engaged,” and Theo had coldly answered:  “Pshaw!  Grandma will quickly break that up.  Why, Henry Warner is comparatively poor!  Mr. Douglas told me so, or rather I quizzed him until I found it out.  He says, though, that Henry has rare business talents, and he could not do without him.”

To the latter part of Theo’s remark Maggie paid little heed; but the mention of her grandmother troubled her.  She would oppose it, Maggie was sure of that, and it was to talk on this very subject that she had come to Hagar’s cottage.

“Just the way I s’posed it would end,” said Hagar, when Maggie, with blushing, half-averted face, told the story of her engagement.  “Just the way I s’posed ’twould end, but I didn’t think ’twould be so quick.”

“Two months and a half is a great while, and then we have been together so much,” replied Maggie, at the same time asking if Hagar did not approve her choice.

“Henry Warner’s well enough,” answered Hagar.  “I’ve watched him close and see no evil in him; but he isn’t the one for you, nor are you the one for him.  You are both too wild, too full of fun, and if yoked together will go to destruction, I know.  You need somebody to hold you back, and so does he.”

Involuntarily Maggie thought of Rose, mentally resolving to be, if possible, more like her.

“You are not angry with me?” said Hagar, observing Maggie’s silence.  “You asked my opinion, and I gave it to you.  You are too young to know who you like.  Henry Warner is the first man you ever knew, and in two years’ time you’ll tire of him.”

“Tire of him, Hagar?  Tire of Henry Warner?” cried Maggie a little indignantly.  “You do not know me, if you think I’ll ever tire of him; and then, too, did I tell you grandma keeps writing to me about a Mr. Carrollton, who she says is wealthy, fine-looking, highly educated, and very aristocratic-and that last makes me hate him!  I’ve heard so much about aristocracy that I’m sick of it, and just for that reason I would not have this Mr. Carrollton if I knew he’d make me queen of England.  But grandma’s heart is set upon it, I know, and she thinks of course he would marry me-says he is delighted with my daguerreotype-that awful one, too, with the staring eyes.  In grandma’s last letter he sent me a note.  ’Twas beautifully written, and I dare say he is a fine young man, at least he talks common sense, but I shan’t answer it; and, if you’ll believe me, I used part of it in lighting Henry’s cigar, and with the rest I shall light firecrackers on the Fourth of July; Henry has bought a lot of them, and we’re going to have fun.  How grandma would scold!-but I shall marry Henry Warner, anyway.  Do you think she will oppose me, when she sees how determined I am?”

“Of course she will,” answered Hagar.  “I know those Carrolltons-they are a haughty race; and if your grandmother has one of them in view she’ll turn you from her door sooner than see you married to another, and an American, too.”

There was a moment’s silence, and then, with an unnatural gleam in her eye, old Hagar turned towards Maggie, and, grasping her shoulder, said:  “If she does this thing, Maggie Miller,-if she casts you off,-will you take me for your grandmother?  Will you let me live with you?  I’ll be your drudge, your slave; say, Maggie, may I go with you?  Will you call me grandmother?  I’d willingly die if only once I could hear you speak to me thus, and know it was in love.”

For a moment Maggie looked at her in astonishment; then thinking to herself, “She surely is half-crazed,” she answered laughingly:  “Yes, Hagar, if grandma casts me off, you may go with me.  I shall need your care, but I can’t promise to call you grandma, because you know you are not.”

The corners of Hagar’s mouth worked nervously, but her teeth shut firmly over the thin, white lip, forcing back the wild words trembling there, and the secret was not told.

“Go home, Maggie Miller,” she said at last, rising slowly to her feet.  “Go home now, and leave me alone.  I am willing you should marry Henry Warner-nay, I wish you to do it; but you must remember your promise.”

Maggie was about to answer, when her thoughts were directed to another channel by the sight of George Douglas and Theo coming slowly down the shaded pathway which led past Hagar’s door.  Old Hagar saw them too, and, whispering to Maggie, said, “There’s another marriage brewing, or the signs do not tell true, and madam will sanction this one, too, for there’s money there, and gold can purify any blood.”

Ere Maggie could reply Theo called out, “You here, Maggie, as usual?” adding, aside, to her companion:  “She has the most unaccountable taste, so different from me, who cannot endure anything low and vulgar.  Can you?  But I need not ask,” she continued, “for your associations have been of a refined nature.”

George Douglas did not answer, for his thoughts were back in the brown farmhouse at the foot of the hill, where his boyhood was passed, and he wondered what the high-bred lady at his side would say if she could see the sunburned man and plain, old-fashioned woman who called him their son George Washington.  He would not confess that he was ashamed of his parentage, for he tried to be a kind and dutiful child, but he would a little rather that Theo Miller should not know how democratic had been his early training.  So he made no answer, but, addressing himself to Maggie, asked how she could find it in her heart to leave her patient so long.

“I’m going back directly,” she said, and donning her hat she started for home, thinking she had gained but little satisfaction from Hagar, who, as Douglas and Theo passed on, resumed her seat by the door, and, listening to the sound of Margaret’s retreating footsteps, muttered:  “The old light-heartedness is gone.  There are shadows gathering round her; for once in love, she’ll never be as free and joyous again.  But it can’t be helped; it’s the destiny of women, and I only hope this Warner is worthy of her.  But he aint.  He’s too wild-too full of what Hagar Warren calls bedevilment.  And Maggie does everything he tells her to do.  Not content with tearing down his bed-curtains, which have hung there full twenty years, she’s set things all cornerwise, because the folks do so in Worcester, and has turned the parlor into a smoking-room, till all the air of Hillsdale can’t take away that tobacco scent.  Why, it almost knocks me down!” and the old lady groaned aloud, as she recounted to herself the recent innovations upon the time-honored habits of her mistress’ house.

Henry Warner was, indeed, rather a fast young man, but it needed the suggestive presence of George Douglas to bring out his true character; and for the four days succeeding the arrival of the latter there were rare doings at the old stone house, where the astonished and rather delighted servants looked on in amazement while the young men sang their jovial songs and drank of the rare old wine which Maggie, utterly fearless of what her grandmother might say, brought from the cellar below.  But when, on the morning of the Fourth, Henry Warner suggested that they have a celebration, or at least hang out the American flag by way of showing their patriotism, there were signs of rebellion in the kitchen, while even Mrs. Jeffrey, who had long since ceased to interfere, felt it her duty to remonstrate.  Accordingly, she descended to the parlor, where she found George Douglas and Maggie dancing to the tune of “Yankee Doodle,” which Theo played upon the piano, while Henry Warner whistled a most stirring accompaniment!  To be heard above that din was impossible, and involuntarily patting her own slippered foot to the lively strain the distressed little lady went back to her room, wondering what Madam Conway would say if she knew how her house was being desecrated.

But Madam Conway did not know.  She was three thousand miles away, and with this distance between them Maggie dared do anything; so when the flag was again mentioned, she answered apologetically, as if it were something of which they ought to be ashamed:  “We never had any, but we can soon make one, I know.  ’Twill be fun to see it float from the housetop!” and, flying up the stairs to the dusty garret, she drew from a huge oaken chest a scarlet coat which had belonged to the former owner of the place, who little thought, as he sat in state, that his favorite coat would one day furnish material for the emblem of American freedom!

No such thought as this, however, obtruded itself upon Maggie as she bent over the chest.  “The coat is of no use,” she said, and gathering it up she ran back to the parlor, where, throwing it across Henry’s lap, she told how it had belonged to her great-great-grandfather, who at the time of the Revolution went home to England.  The young men exchanged a meaning look, and then burst into a laugh, but the cause of their merriment they did not explain, lest the prejudices of the girls should be aroused.

“This is just the thing,” said Henry, entering heart and soul into the spirit of the fun.  “This is grand.  Can’t you find some blue for the groundwork of the stars?”

Maggie thought a moment, and then exclaimed:  “Oh, yes-I have it; grandma has a blue satin bodice which she wore when she was a young lady.  She once gave me a part of the back for my doll’s dress.  She won’t care if I cut up the rest for a banner.”

“Of course not,” answered George Douglas.  “She’ll be glad to have it used for such a laudable purpose,” and walking to the window he laughed heartily as he saw in fancy the wrath of the proud Englishwoman when she learned the use to which her satin bodice had been appropriated.

The waist was brought in a twinkling, and then, when Henry asked for some white, Maggie cried, “A sheet will be just the thing-one of grandma’s small linen ones.  It won’t hurt it a bit,” she added, as she saw a shadow on Theo’s brow, and, mounting to the top of the high chest of drawers, she brought out a sheet of finest linen, which, with rose leaves and fragrant herbs, had been carefully packed away.

It was a long, delightful process, the making of that banner; and Maggie’s voice rang out loud and clear as she saw how cleverly Henry Warner managed the shears, cutting the red coat into stripes.  The arrangement of the satin fell to Maggie’s lot; and while George Douglas made the stars, Theo looked on a little doubtfully-not that her nationality was in any way affected, for what George Douglas sanctioned was by this time right with her; but she felt some misgiving as to what her grandmother might say; and, thinking if she did nothing but look on and laugh the blame would fall on Maggie, she stood aloof, making occasionally a suggestion, and seeming as pleased as anyone when at last the flag was done.  A quilting-frame served as a flagstaff, and Maggie was chosen to plant it upon the top of the house, where was a cupola, or miniature tower, overlooking the surrounding country.  Leading to this tower was a narrow staircase, and up these stairs Maggie bore the flag, assisted by one of the servant girls, whose birthplace was green Erin, and whose broad, good-humored face shone with delight as she fastened the pole securely in its place, and then shook aloft her checked apron, in answer to the cheer which came up from below, when first the American banner waved over the old stone house.

Attracted by the noise, and wondering what fresh mischief they were doing, Mrs. Jeffrey went out into the yard just in time to see the flag of freedom as it shook itself out in the summer breeze.

“Heaven help me!” she ejaculated; “the ‘Stars and Stripes’ on Madam Conway’s house!” and, resolutely shutting her eyes, lest they should look again on what to her seemed sacrilege, she groped her way back to the house; and, retiring to her room, wrote to Madam Conway an exaggerated account of the proceedings, bidding her hasten home or everything would be ruined.

The letter being written, the good lady felt better-so much better, indeed, that after an hour’s deliberation she concluded not to send it, inasmuch as it contained many complaints against the young lady Margaret, who she knew was sure in the end to find favor in her grandmother’s eyes.  This was the first time Mrs. Jeffrey had attempted a letter to her employer, for Maggie had been the chosen correspondent, Theo affecting to dislike anything like letter-writing.  On the day previous to Henry Warner’s arrival at the stone house Maggie had written to her grandmother, and ere the time came for her to write again she had concluded to keep his presence there a secret:  so Madam Conway was, as yet, ignorant of his existence; and while in the homes of the English nobility she bore herself like a royal duchess, talking to young Arthur Carrollton of her beautiful granddaughter, she little dreamed of the real state of affairs at home.

But it was not for Mrs. Jeffrey to enlighten her, and tearing her letter in pieces the governess sat down in her easy-chair by the window, mentally congratulating herself upon the fact that “the two young savages,” as she styled Douglas and Warner, were to leave on the morrow.  This last act of theirs, the hoisting of the banner, had been the culminating point; and, too indignant to sit with them at the same table, she resolutely kept her room throughout the entire day, poring intently over Baxter’s “Saints’ Rest,” her favorite volume when at all flurried or excited.  Occasionally, too, she would stop her ears with jeweler’s cotton, to shut out the sound of “Hail, Columbia!” as it came up to her from the parlor below, where the young men were doing their best to show their patriotism.

Towards evening, alarmed by a whizzing sound, which seemed to be often repeated, and wishing to know the cause, she stole halfway down the stairs, when the mischievous Maggie greeted her with a “serpent,” which, hissing beneath her feet, sent her quickly back to her room, from which she did not venture again.  Mrs. Jeffrey was very good-natured, and reflecting that “young folks must have fun,” she became at last comparatively calm, and at an early hour sought her pillow.  But thoughts of “stars and stripes” waving directly over her head, as she knew they were, made her nervous, and the long clock struck the hour of two, and she was yet restless and wakeful, notwithstanding the near approach of dawn.

“Maybe the ‘Saints’ Rest’ will quiet me a trifle,” she thought; and, striking a light, she attempted to read; but in vain, for every word was a star, every line a stripe, and every leaf a flag.  Shutting the book and hurriedly pacing the floor, she exclaimed:  “It’s of no use trying to sleep, or meditate either.  Baxter himself couldn’t do it with that thing over his head, and I mean to take it down.  It’s a duty I owe to King George’s memory, and to Madam Conway;” and, stealing from her room, she groped her way up the dark, narrow stairway, until, emerging into the bright moonlight, she stood directly beneath the American banner, waving so gracefully in the night wind.  “It’s a clever enough device,” she said, gazing rather admiringly at it.  “And I’d let it be if I s’posed I could sleep a wink; but I can’t.  It’s worse for my nerves than strong green tea, and I’ll not lie awake for all the Yankee flags in Christendom.”  So saying, the resolute little woman tugged at the quilt-frame until she loosened it from its fastenings, and then started to return.

But, alas! the way was narrow and dark, the banner was large and cumbersome, while the lady that bore it was nervous and weak.  It is not strange, then, that Maggie, who slept at no great distance, was awakened by a tremendous crash, as of someone falling the entire length of the tower stairs, while a voice, frightened and faint, called out; “Help me, Margaret, do!  I am dead!  I know I am!”

Striking a light, Maggie hurried to the spot, while her merry laugh aroused the servants, who came together in a body.  Stretched upon the floor, with one foot thrust entirely through the banner, which was folded about her so that the quilt-frame lay directly upon her bosom, was Mrs. Jeffrey, the broad frill of her cap standing up erect, and herself asserting with every breath that “she was dead and buried, she knew she was.”

“Wrapped in a winding-sheet, I’ll admit,” said Maggie, “but not quite dead, I trust;” and, putting down her light, she attempted to extricate her governess, who continued to apologize for what she had done.  “Not that I cared so much about your celebrating America; but I couldn’t sleep with the thing over my head; I was going to put it back in the morning before you were up.  There! there! careful!  It’s broken short off!” she screamed, as Maggie tried to release her foot from the rent in the linen sheet, a rent which the frightened woman persisted in saying she could darn as good as new, while at the same time she implored of Maggie to handle carefully her ankle, which had been sprained by the fall.

Maggie’s recent experience in broken bones had made her quite an adept, and taking the slight form of Mrs. Jeffrey in her arms she carried her back to her room, where, growing more quiet, the old lady told her how she happened to fall, saying she never thought of stumbling, until she fancied that Washington and all his regiment were after her, and when she turned her head to see, she lost her footing and fell.

Forcing back her merriment, which in spite of herself would occasionally burst forth, Maggie made her teacher as comfortable as possible, and then stayed with her until morning, when, leaving her in charge of a servant, she went below to say farewell to her guests.  Between George Douglas and Theo there were a few low-spoken words, she granting him permission to write, while he promised to visit her again in the early autumn.  He had not yet talked to her of love, for Rose Warner had still a home in his heart, and she must be dislodged ere another could take her place.  But his affection for her was growing gradually less.  Theo suited him well; her family suited him better, and when at parting he took her hand in his he resolved to ask her for it when next he came to Hillsdale.

Meanwhile between Henry Warner and Maggie there was a far more affectionate farewell, he whispering to her of a time not far distant when he would claim her as his own, and, she should go with him.  He would write to her every week, he said, and Rose should write too.  He would see Rose in a few days, and tell her of his engagement, which he knew would please her.

“Let me send her a line,” said Maggie, and on a tiny sheet of paper she wrote:  “Dear Rose:  Are you willing I should be your sister Maggie?”

Half an hour later, and Hagar Warren, coming through the garden gate, looked after the carriage which bore the gentlemen to the depot, muttering to herself:  “I’m glad the high bucks have gone.  A good riddance to them both.”

In her disorderly chamber, too, Mrs. Jeffrey hobbled on one foot to the window, where, with a deep sigh of relief, she sent after the young men a not very complimentary adieu, which was echoed in part by the servants below, while Theo, on the piazza, exclaimed against the lonesome old house, which was never so lonesome before, and Maggie seated herself upon the stairs and cried!