"I recognize the beauty of equality, Doctor," laughed Mr. Cornwallis, "and I think I might be able to love other countries as well as my own country after a great deal of practice and very possibly, my neighbor as well as myself, but I fear I could never love my neighbor's boy as well as I love my own boy. I hope I am taking a step in the right direction when I pay equal honor to my country's birthday and to his." Little Ruth caught her father's spirit as by infection. Every Fourth of July she arose as soon as the cannon began to boom and running out into the dewy or rainy garden, whichever it happened to be, she picked two great bunches of red and white flowers and arranged them in two blue vases and put one at the end of the table where mamma sat and the other at the end where papa sat in honor of the two birthdays. Mrs. Cornwallis made a new patriotic suit for her darling boy each year. This year it was a quaint George Washington suit in red, white and blue with a cute Can't-tell-a-lie cap, all spangled with stars. After breakfast was over, she spread the suit out on the bed in her room. She was going to give her boy a bath preparatory to putting it on. The cannon on Schwarmer Hill began to boom again just as Laurens was stepping into his little bath tub. The boy shivered. "What makes you shiver so, Laurens? Is the water too cold?" asked his mother. "O no, mamma! It's the cannon I'm shivering at. It made the house shiver. What makes them have it so awful loud?" "So as to be sure and make everybody hear, Laurens." "I think a bugle would be better, mamma." "So do I, my boy, but I suppose Mr. Schwarmer doesn't." "I'm afraid of Mr. Schwarmer, mamma. He gave Benny Horton something that blew his eye out last Fourth." "So am I, my boy. Fireworks are not fit for little boys to handle. They smell bad, they are bad, dangerous and noisy." She was rubbing his white satiny skin with her soft hands. She stopped short and added: "If he ever offers you any, you will refuse to take them, and you will tell him what mamma says about them, won't you darling?" He threw his arms around her neck and kissed her. "Yes, mamma, I will. You don't want your little boy to have his eyes put out, do you?" he said pathetically. "No indeed, Laurens," cried the mother turning around to get his new pants and brush away a tear. "Mamma, the gardener said my old pants were holy. What did he mean?" "He meant you had worn holes in them, Laurens?" "What did the Sunday-school teacher mean when she said the war we are going to celebrate today was a holy war? Did she mean we had worn holes in it? Worn it out?" "No," laughed Mamma, "she meant it was a war to make the English give us our own things just as you would fight if a dog should try to eat up your dinner." "O mamma, I would give poor doggy my dinner if he were hungry," said Laurens, with tears in his eyes.