something strike."

Dale Wacker came upon the scene--not limping, but chuckling and winking
to the cronies at his back.

"Pretty good aim, eh, fellows?" he gloated. "Stirling, you're a capital
gunner."

All eyes were now turned in a new direction--in that whither the muzzle
of the cannon was pointed.

The grounds of the Harrington mansion were the scene of a vivid
commotion. The porch lights had been abruptly turned on, and they
flooded the lawn in front with radiance.

Bart gasped, thrilled, and experienced a strange qualm of dismay. He
discerned in a flash that something heretofore always prominently
present on the Harrington landscape was not now in evidence.

The wealthy colonel was given to "grandstand plays," and one of them had
been the placing of a bronze pedestal and statue at the side of the
driveway.

It bore the inscription "1812," and according to the colonel, portrayed
a military man life-size, epaulettes, sword, uniform and all--his
maternal grandfather as he had appeared in the battle scene where he had
lost a limb.

Now, in effigy, the valiant warrior was prostrate. The colonel's
servants were rushing to the spot where the statue had tumbled over on