“Your father wouldn’t do such a thing, Tom!” cried Ruth.
“No. I hope he wouldn’t, anyway,” said Master Tom, wagging his head. “But I couldn’t say that to Bobbins when he told me about it, could I?”
“No call to. But, oh, dear! I hope Mr. Steele won’t be successful. I do hope he won’t be.”
“Same here,” grunted Tom. “Just the same, he’s a nice man, and I like him.”
“Yes—so do I,” admitted Ruth. “But I’d like him so much more, if he wouldn’t try to get the best of an old man like Mr. Caslon.”
The Raby matter, however, was a more pleasant topic of conversation for the two friends. The big bay horse got over the ground rapidly—Tom said the creature did not know a hill when he saw one!—and it still lacked half an hour of noon when they came in sight of Caslon’s house.
The orphans were all in force in the front yard. Mr. Caslon appeared, too.
That yard was untidy for the first time since Ruth had seen it. And most of the untidiness was caused by telltale bits of red, yellow, and green paper. Even before the cart came to the gate, Ruth smelled the tang of powder smoke.
“Oh, Tom! they have got firecrackers,” she exclaimed.
“So have I—a whole box full—under the front seat,” chuckled Tom. “What’s the Fourth without a weeny bit of noise? Bobbins and I are going to let them off in a big hogshead he’s found behind the stable.”