unced a success, though their discharge was hastened on account of
the thickening rain.

The boys separated, tired and sleepy, sorry to part with the Fourth, and
yet secretly glad that there was such a thing as "bed."

"Whar's Charlie," asked Juggie, as the boys separated. No one knew.
"Good-bye, Charlie!" shouted one after the other, and all hastened to
their homes.

Charlie was where he had been the last twenty minutes, occupying a seat
out in the porch at the back door and waiting for Aunt Stanshy. He had
fallen asleep, so thoroughly tired was this patriotic young American, and
the day for him was ending as it began--in a chair. Aunt Stanshy came at
last, feeling her way through the shadows in the porch and striving to
reach the back door, whose key she carried.

"What's this?" she said, running against the sleeper. "If it isn't that
boy! And here the rain has been working round into the porch and it is
coming on him! If you don't take cold, Charles Pitt Macomber, then I am
mistaken! Wake up, wake up!"

CHAPTER VI.

A SICK PATRIOT.

The next morning, Aunt Stanshy was stirring at the usual hour, and her
usual hour in summer was five. She did not generally expect to see Charlie
down stairs until half past six. This morning, Aunt Stanshy; looked up at
the clock on the high mantel-piece and saw that it was seven, then half
after seven, then eight, and half after eight; but all this time there was
neither sound nor sight of Charlie.

"Massy, where is that boy? I thought I would let him sleep, he was so
tired, but he ought to be around now," reflected Aunt Stanshy.

She opened the door that led up to his chamber and slowly mounted the
steep, narrow, yellow stairs, turning to the right into Charlie's sanctum.
A turn to the left would have taken her to her own room. Peeping into
Charlie's room, she saw the boy fast asleep on the bed. Stealing softly
across the bare floor and reaching the red and yellow home-braided rug
before his bed, she looked down on the sleeping Charlie. A smile parted
his lips, and be murmured something unintelligible to Aunt Stanshy. Then
she laid her hand on his head, giving a little start.

"That boy took cold last night, and is a bit feverish. I'll let him lie
here a spell longer."

Saying this, she was about to turn away, when Charlie's eyes opened.

"That you--you, aunty?"

"Yes; why?"

"I thought it was a dream. I had a dream, and thought we gave the
down-townies an awfu