“You boys are rascals!” breathed Ruth. “Why! there are the twins!”
Sadie’s young brothers ran out to the cart. Mr. Caslon appeared with a good-sized box in his arms, too.
“Just take this—and the youngsters—aboard, will you, young fellow?” said the farmer. “Might as well have all the rockets and such up there on the hill. They’ll show off better. And the twins was down for the clean clo’es mother promised them.”
It was a two-seated cart and there was plenty of room for the two boys on the back seat. Mr. Caslon carefully placed the open box in the bottom of the cart, between the seats. The fireworks he had purchased had been taken out of their wrappings and were placed loosely in the box.
“There ye are,” said the farmer, jovially. “Hop up here, youngsters!”
He seized Willie and hoisted him into the seat. But Dickie had run around to the other side of the cart and clambered up like a monkey, to join his brother.
“All right, sir,” said Tom, wheeling the eager bay horse. It was nearing time for the latter’s oats, and he smelled them! “Out of the way, kids. They’ll send a wagon down for you, all right, after luncheon, I reckon.”
Just then Ruth happened to notice something smoking in Dickie’s hand.
“What have you there, child?” she demanded. “Not a nasty cigarette?”
He held out, solemnly, and as usual wordlessly, a smoking bit of punk.