the velvety sward.

"See here!"--cried Bart stormingly, turning on Dale Wacker.

"Loaded," significantly observed the latter with a diabolical grin.

A rush of keen realization made Bart shiver. He recognized what the
foolhardy escapade might have cost had that whirling cannon ball met a
human, instead of an inanimate, target.

As it was, he easily calculated the indignation and resentment of the
haughty village magnate who was given to outbursts of wrath which
carried all before him.

"You've spoiled my Fourth," began Bart in a tumult. "I'll spoil your--"

"Cut for it, fellows! they're coming for us!"

"They" were the village officers. Bart had made a jump towards Dale
Wacker, but the latter had faded into the vortex of pell-mell fugitives
rushing away downhill to hiding.

Bart put after them, trying to single out the author of the scurvy joke
that he knew had serious trouble at the end of it.

"Hold on!" gasped a breathless voice.

"Don't stop me!" shouted Bart, trying to tear loose from a frantic grip.
"Oh, it's you--what do you want?"