Immediately back of her, with her head tilted and a new light gleaming in her eyes, came Edith Williams. There was a smile on Jason’s lips. It was lingering from the vision of Mahala as she had bent her head and lifted her hands to her breast for the blessing of “Crazy Becky.” But the smile merged into an expression of aroused indignation. His thought had been that Edith Williams looked like a lily that needed a gold heart, but that thought quickly passed, for with uplifted hand, she struck aside the white flag and entered the church door. The crowd outside heard Rebecca’s shrill curse: “To the devil, you velvet-clad jade! You have a black heart—as black as your head!” Little Susanna, ever anxious to save any unpleasant occasion, came next, crying to Rebecca: “My turn now. I want to go under your flag, Rebecca!” Instantly Rebecca was all smiles again and the flag was back in place while her lips were murmuring a blessing. Down the line, Junior had heartily sympathized with the uplifted hand. What mummery that a crazy woman should be allowed to stand there! She might even come into the church and spoil the graduating exercises. He said to the men standing nearest him: “Watch her! Don’t let her get into the church. She’ll spoil everything. She ought to be taken to the lock-up at a time like this.” But as he came up the steps, Junior had not quite the courage to subject himself to the black curse that had fallen upon Edith. With a shamefaced grin and a muttered, “Better avoid a fight,” he ducked under the flag and hurried into the church. Following the example of the graduating class, the Principal, the Superintendent, the high-school teachers, and the School Board passed under the flag to Rebecca’s intense delight. The last man in the procession was Martin Moreland. Since he could not be first, he had deliberately chosen to be last. He would be more conspicuous in the outside seat than he would be between two other men. As he came up the steps, Rebecca’s eyes fastened on him. Instantly, she whirled the flag from over the head of the man before him and snatched it to her breast. She folded her hands over it and held it there tight, crying to the outraged banker as he advanced: “Woe upon you, Martin Moreland, despoiler of white flags, despoiler of white women! The blackest curse of the Almighty is waiting for your head!” Martin Moreland’s outstretched arm swept her off the steps and backward into the crowd. “Take that crazy helion where she can’t possibly get into the building,” he said. “I’ll hold you responsible if it happens.”