Jim had a rather hard time as well. He thought, with a boy's loyalty, his people must be right. But there was Lily, who, with all _her_ people, was a rabid Democrat. He quite made up his mind he wouldn't keep in with her, but the two girls he liked next best had Democratic affiliations also. Then the Whigs had a grand procession. Perhaps it would have been the part of wisdom to wait until the victory was assured, but the leaders thought it best to arouse enthusiasm to the highest pitch. Stephen had joined with some friends and hired a window down Broadway. The little girl thought it a very magnificent display. Such bands of strikingly dressed men marching to inspiriting music, their torches flaring about in vivid rays, such carriage loads, such wagons representing different industries, and there was the grand Ship of State, drawn by white horses, four abreast, and gayly attired, in which Henry Clay was to sail successfully into the White House. After that imposing display the little girl had no fear at all. Jim was very toploftical to Miss Lily for several days. Then came the fatal day. There were no telegraphs to flash the news all over the country before midnight. A small one connected Baltimore and Washington, but long distance was considered chimerical. So they had to wait and wait. Fortunes varied. At last reliable accounts came, and Polk had stood in the way, or perhaps Mr. Binney, the third candidate, had taken too many votes. Anyhow, the day was lost to brave Harry of the West. The little girl was bitterly disappointed. She would have liked all the family to tie a black crape around their arms, as Joe had once when he went to a great doctor's funeral. Dele teased her a good deal, and Nora sang: "Hurrah, old pussy gray! Hurrah, old pussy gray! We've got the President and all, And Polk has won the day." Then the Democrats had _their_ grand procession. The houses were illuminated, the streets were full of shouting children. Even the boys had a small brigade that marched up and down the street. And oh, grief, Jim marched with them! "I wouldn't be such a turn-coat!" declared the little girl angrily. "I'm ashamed of you, James Underhill. I shall always feel as if you wasn't my brother any more." "Sho!" returned Jim. "Half the boys turning out have Whig fathers! There wouldn't have been enough for any sort of procession without us. And they promised to cry quits if we would turn out. It don't mean anything but fun!" She took her trouble to her father. "You are sorry we have been beaten?" she said excitedly. "Yes, pussy, very sorry. I still think we shall be sorry that Clay isn't President." "I'm sorry all the time. And when he was so good and splendid, why didn't they put him in?" "Well, a great many people think Mr. Polk just as splendid." "Oh, the Democrats!" she commented disdainfully.