“There was once a little boy named Fred,” said daddy. “He was very fond of soldiers and bands. He had a great many little toy soldiers, and he would have the most wonderful drills with them. Last Memorial day his grandfather, who had since died, had given him a little, old, ragged flag. But it was the stars and stripes, and Fred cherished it. His grandfather had fought in the Civil War and all through that war had carried the little flag. Now his grandfather was gone, and yesterday they had put a fresh flag on his grave. But Fred had the little flag that had been through the war.
“That night he was very tired, and he went to bed early. The cool white sheets and soft pillow were delightful to a very sleepy little boy, but soon he seemed to be sitting up on the pillow, and before him was the flag.
“‘I have come,’ said the little flag, ‘because I thought you would like me to talk to you. Your grandfather went to the Civil War, as you know.
“‘He was so brave in the war, and, oh, I was so proud while I was with him all the time that it was for my sake he was fighting! It’s the most wonderful thing in the world to be a flag even if you’re in rags.’”