The day of days had come at last: Dorothy would be the Daughter of the Regiment. Lucky you don’t have to curl your hair, Doro, for the fog is like rain, and that’s the worst kind for made curls, said Tavia. Oh, I do hope it is not going to rain!
No, it surely won’t. But come, don’t let’s be late.
There’s heaps of time, Tavia. Oh, just see Briggs’ new flag! Isn’t it glorious? cried Dorothy Dale. Not half as glorious as your old Betsy Ross. I’d be too proud to march if I had a real, truly Betsy. I think, anyway, it’s prettier with the star of stars than with the regular daisy field of them, and Tavia tied her scarf just once more, that being the fourth time she had smoothed it out and knotted it over.