Some were staring up the hill in wonder and terror, others were starting for its summit, among them two village officials, as demonstrated by the silver stars they wore.
"They heard it—it woke 'em up, right enough!" shrieked little Sawyer in a frenzy of happiness.
"Look yonder!" piped a second breathless voice. "Say, I thought I heard something strike."
Dale Wacker came upon the scene—not limping, but chuckling and winking to the cronies at his back.
"Pretty good aim, eh, fellows?" he gloated. "Stirling, you're a capital gunner."
All eyes were now turned in a new direction—in that whither the muzzle of the cannon was pointed.
The grounds of the Harrington mansion were the scene of a vivid commotion. The porch lights had been abruptly turned on, and they flooded the lawn in front with radiance.
Bart gasped, thrilled, and experienced a strange qualm of dismay. He discerned in a flash that something heretofore always prominently present on the Harrington landscape was not now in evidence.
The wealthy colonel was given to "grandstand plays," and one of them had been the placing of a bronze pedestal and statue at the side of the driveway.
It bore the inscription "1812," and according to the colonel, portrayed a military man life-size, epaulettes, sword, uniform and all—his maternal grandfather as he had appeared in the battle scene where he had lost a limb.