“The very first day he got here, he swore at the table.” The minister looked horrified. “Of course I spoke of it right off and he hasn’t done it again. He was kind of excited about playing Indian, and I don’t suppose he really meant it; he said”—the minister reddened and looked away, and Miss Lucinda flushed—“he said ‘Jiminy.’” The minister drew out his handkerchief and coughed slightly. “But, as I say, he hasn’t said anything since, and I think I could get along very well if Fourth of July wasn’t coming so soon. But what do you think? He wants a soldier suit, and firecrackers, and all sorts of things. If only he hadn’t come till after the Fourth! I never did approve of it. I always did think it was a heathenish holiday,” and Miss Lucinda broke off feelingly. After the minister had gone Miss Lucinda started to go to the village store. Jim usually did the errands, but this was something that had been overlooked, and he was at play, out of calling distance. On Miss Lucinda’s return, as she came through the lane by a shorter road, she heard voices in the field beyond; the speakers were hidden by a hedge, but she recognized the tones as Jim’s and his playfellow’s across the street. “Say, can’t you march?” said a wheedling voice. “No, I guess not,” Jim’s voice answered, a trifle dolefully. “Why not? Won’t she make you a suit?” There was a little pause before Jim answered: “Well, I don’t know’s I care ’bout marchin’.” “H’m! you needn’t say that. It’s cause that stingy old maid won’t make you anything to wear, I know.” There was a sudden movement on the other side of the hedge. “You call her a stingy old maid again and you’ll see! She’s a handsome lady, she is, and it ain’t none o’ your business if I don’t want to march.” “H’m! you needn’t git on your ear so dreadful quick. I wouldn’t stand up for anybody that only let me earn money enough to buy two bunches of firecrackers. Why, I’ve got two packages! A great Fourth o’ July you’ll have!” “I’ve got some more money, but I ain’t goin’ to buy firecrackers; I’m savin’ it for a s’prise. Say, look-a-here, you see, Miss Tibbox ain’t never had a boy ’round, an’ she don’t understand ’bout Fourth o’ July, that’s all.” Miss Lucinda did not wait to hear the answer, but went swiftly back to the village. The night before the Fourth, as Jim was going to bed, Miss Lucinda said: “Ain’t you going to march with the boys to-morrow, Jim?” Jim shook his head and looked at her solemnly. “I ain’t got no suit. The fellers won’t let you march without one. Never mind, I’ve given up lots of things. My aunt wa’nt much of a hand for doin’ things, you know.” Jim had never asked Miss Lucinda to kiss him good-night since that first time, when he felt so markedly homesick, and certainly she would never have offered to kiss him, so she merely said, as he took his light to go upstairs, “Good-night, Jim.”