n a handful of grass and some more
newspaper, hammering on the ram-rod with a brick, regardless of any
danger of premature explosion. The coarse powder was not "lively,"
however, and had always stood such handling. The process was continued
until the cannon was stuffed to the muzzle. Then a few grains were
dropped over the touch-hole, a long strip of paper laid over this,
weighted down with a small pebble, and was ready for lighting.

"There," said Harvey, relinquishing the ram-rod to the youth, "that'll
speak. If you fill 'em full of powder they don't make half the noise."

Simultaneously, Henry Burns, the Warren boys, Tom Harris, Bob White and
a dozen other lads had been loading and priming their respective pieces;
and presently they stood awaiting the striking of the town clocks.

Willie Perkins's father, who had been hard at work all the evening with
a congenial party in his office, at a game of euchre, was just getting
his first nap, having congratulated himself on retiring, that, if the
neighbourhood's rest was disturbed, his son at least would not
contribute toward it. Willie Perkins, having extended a cordial
invitation to the boys to come around and visit his esteemed parent,
was himself fast asleep.

Clang! The first town clock to take cognizance of the arrival of the
glorious Fourth struck a lusty note, that rang out loudly on the clear
night air. But there was no response from the eager gunners. It was not
yet Fourth of July. It would have gone hard with the boy that had fired.

Clang and clang again. The twelfth call was still ringing in the iron
throat of the old bell, high in its steeple, when Harvey shouted, "Now
give it to her!"

There was a hasty scratching of matches. The strips of paper began to
burn; slowly at first, while the boys scattered; then quickly,
sputtering as the flame caught the first few grains of powder.

A moment later, it seemed to Willie Perkins's father as though he had
been lifted completely out of his bed by some violent concussion, while
a roar like the blast of battle shook the house. The glorious Fourth had
begun in Benton.

Springing to his feet, Mr. Perkins uttered a denunciation of the day
that would have made the signers of the Declaration of Independence turn
in their graves, while he rushed to the window. Throwing it open, he
peered out into the square. There was not a boy in sight. Retreat had
already begun, ignominiously, from the field.

"If they come around