“Ah, no wonder you grow manly so fast, young sir, living in such a grand old place,” remarked a strange voice apparently coming from the rear of the little party seated pretty close together on the deck.
Naturally every head turned in the direction of the sound, but the speaker was not to be seen.
“Who and where are you, sir?” queried the captain. “Step forward and take a seat with the rest of us.”
“Thank you, sir; but I do not want to intrude. You must excuse me for coming aboard, but I wanted a sail and thought my weight wouldn’t retard the boat. I’ll pay for my passage if you say so.”
The speaker continued invisible, though every word was distinctly heard.
“Then do so by giving us a sight of your face,” returned Captain Raymond.
“It is not covered, sir, and you are all welcome to look your fill,” was the reply.
“Where is de mans, papa?” asked little Ned, gazing wonderingly about.
“Sitting in Cousin Ronald’s chair, I think,” replied his father, smoothing the curls of the little prattler, who was seated upon his knee.
“Well, then, perhaps it was Brother Max.”
“No, papa, Bruver Maxie not talk dat way. Does oo, Maxie?”
“I think not, Neddie boy,” returned Max, smiling on the baby boy and giving his round rosy cheek an affectionate pat.
“No, no, little chap, I’m not Brother Max,” said the voice, sounding somewhat farther away than before, “or any such callow chicken, but a full-grown man.”
“Ah, ha, I know now that it is Cousin Ronald,” laughed Lulu, “for Max would never call himself a callow chicken.”
“I shouldn’t think Cousin Ronald would call him so either,” said Grace in a hurt tone; “chickens are cowardly and I’m sure Max is not.”
“Better not be too sure, but wait till you see him tried, miss,” said a squeaky little voice, coming seemingly from another part of the vessel.
“Now that’s you, Max, I know, because it is the very same voice we heard at Minersville on the evening of the glorious Fourth,” remarked Lulu with a merry laugh.
Max neither acknowledged nor denied that she was right. Looking up and catching sight of the Stars and Stripes floating from the masthead, “O Lu,” he asked, “do you know who invented our flag—‘old glory,’ as we love to call her?”
“A little woman named Betty Ross, a Philadelphia Quakeress. She had a great deal of taste, was particularly fond of red, white, and blue, and adorned many of the apartments we read of in colonial history; the halls of Congress, the governor’s reception-room in Philadelphia, among others. She was acquainted with a number of the great men of the time—Morris, Franklin, Rittenhouse, Adams, and best and greatest of all—our Washington. And she had a brother-in-law, Colonel Ross, who was a gallant American officer in the Revolutionary War.