IHE LITTLE TOWN OF THE GRAPE VINES 



breath or two to realize that they are both, 

 flag and tune, the Star Spangled Banner, 

 — a volley is fired, we are back, if you 

 please, in California of America. Every 

 youth who has the blood of patriots in him 

 lays ahold on Tony Sevadra 's flag, happiest 

 if he can sfet a corner of it. The music 

 goes before, the folk fall in two and two, 

 singing. They sing everything, America, 

 the Marseillaise, for the sake of the French 

 shepherds hereabout, the hymn of Cuba, 

 and the Chilian national air to comfort 

 two families of that land. The flag goes 

 to Dona Ina's, with the candlesticks and 

 the altar cloths, then Las Uvas eats tamales 

 and dances the sun up the slope of Pine 

 Mountain. 



You are not to suppose that they do not 

 keep the Fourth, Washington's Birthday, 

 and Thanksgiving at the town of the grape 

 278 



