Footsteps awoke me--footsteps on the landing outside my bedroom.
I sat up, guessing at once that they were the footsteps of the
carpenter and his men, arrived in the dawn with the shell of my
father's coffin. Almost at once I remembered the red ensign, and,
waiting until the footsteps withdrew, stole across, half dressed, to
my father's room to change it. The faint rays of dawn drifted in
through the closed blinds. The coffin-shell lay the length of the
bed, and in it his body. The carpenter's men had left it uncovered.
In the dim light, no doubt, they had overlooked the flag, which I
felt for and found. Tucking it under my arm, I closed the door and
tiptoed downstairs, let myself out at the back, and stole out to the
summer-house.
There was light enough within to help me in selecting the Union flag
from the half-dozen within the locker. I was about to stow the red
ensign in its place when I bethought me that, day being so near, I
might as well bend a flag upon the flagstaff halliards and half-mast
it.
So, with the Union flag under one arm, I carried out the red ensign,
bent it carefully, still in a roll, and hoisted it to the truck.
In half-masting a flag, you first hoist it in a bundle to the
masthead, break it out there, and thence lower it to the position at
which you make fast.
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