thoughtful over the peculiar incident.

It was nearly eight o'clock when Bart got through with his supper, did
his house chores, mended a broken toy pistol for one junior brother,
made up a list of purchases of torpedoes, baby-crackers and punk for the
other, and helped his sisters in various ways.

Bart was soon in the midst of the fray. Every live boy in Pleasantville
was in evidence about the village pleasure grounds, the common and the
hill. Group after group greeted Bart with excited exclamations. He was a
general favorite with the small boys, always ready to assist or advise
them, and an acknowledged leader with those of his own age.

He soon found himself quite active in devising and assisting various
minor displays of squibs, rockets and colored lights. Then he got mixed
up in a general rush for the sheer top of the hill amid the excited
announcement that something unusual was going on there.

The crowd was met by a current of juvenile humanity.

"Run!" shouted an excited voice, "she's going off."

"No, she ain't," pronounced another scoffingly--"ain't lighted yet--no
one's got the nerve to do it."

Bart recognized the last speaker as Dale Wacker, a nephew of Lem. He had
noticed a little earlier his big brother, Ira, a loutish, overgrown
fellow who had gone around with his hands in his pockets sneering at the
innocent fun the smaller boys were indulging in, and bragging about his
own especial Fourth of July supply of fireworks which were to come from