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S a kind of a business (looks to me like it is the axle and wheels of a toy wagon, stood up on end and covered with white paper muslin and a string tied around the middle) that is supposed to be an hour-glass.Then there is a scythe covered with cotton batting, and then a man in a bath-robe (I saw the figure of the goods when the wind blew it open) also covered with white cotton batting.The man has a wig and beard of wicking.First, I thought it was Santa Claus, and then I saw the scythe and knew it must be old Father Time.The hour-glass puzzled me no little though. The man has cotton batting wings.One of them is a little wabbly, but what can you expect from Caledonia?They're always trying to butt the bull off the bridge.They're jealous of our town.Oh, they stooped to all the mean, underhanded tricks you ever heard of to get the canning factory to go to their place instead of here. But we know a thing or two ourselves.Yes, we got the canning factory, all right, all right.

Did you notice how neat and trim our boys looked?None of this flub-dub of scarlet shirts with a big white monogram on the breast, or these fawn-colored suits with querlycues of braid all over.They spot very easily.And did you notice how the Caledonias had long, lean men walking with short, fat men, and nobody keeping step?Our boys were all carefully graded and matched, and their dark blue uniforms with just the neat nickel badge, I think, presented the best appearance of all.And I'll tell you another thing.They'll put it all over the Caledonias this afternoon.They won't let 'em get a smell.

Don't you like the fife-and-drum corps?The fifes set my teeth on edge, but I could follow the drums all day with their:

Tucket a brum, brum brum-brum, tuck-all de brum Tucket a brum-brum, tuck-all de brum-brum-brum Tucket a blip-blip-blip-blip, tucka tuck-all de brum, Tucket a brum-brum, tuck-all de brum-brum-brum!

Part of the time the drummers click their sticks together instead of hitting the drum-head.That's what makes it sound so nice.I wish I could play the snare-drum.

In the Mechanicsburg band is a boy about fourteen years old, a muscular, sturdy chunk of a lad.He walks with his heels down, his calves bulged out behind, his head up, and the regular, proper swagger of a bandsman.He hasn't any uniform, but he's all right. He plays a solo.