“I caught up the bundle of squibs, and was running with them towards a cluster of bushes, when I heard a loud cry from Henry, and turning quickly, I saw the powder flashing into his eyes; and in a moment, he had fallen forward into the flame.
“As I darted forward, the party of girls, pale and trembling, appeared among the trees, and I shouted loudly for help. But how can I describe poor Henry, as he lay upon the ground; his beautiful face blackened with the powder, and so shockingly torn and mangled, that it bore no resemblance to that of a human being.
“‘Is he hurt? Is he dead?’ said the little girls, pressing around me.
“‘Who is he? oh! who is he?’ cried Lucy, throwing herself by his side, ‘it is not Henry, our Henry!—you will not say so?’ said she, looking in my face. I could only answer by cries and tears. Lucy raised her poor brother in her arms. Her face was perfectly calm, and cold, while the rest of the children were drowned in tears, and seemed not to think of doing anything to obtain help. In a few minutes several men, who had been alarmed by the noise, came running toward us. Without asking questions, they took up the body gently, and we followed them towards the house of his mother, whose last wishes I had tempted Henry to slight.
“As we approached the door, we saw the poor widow sitting quietly at work in her neat little parlour. I cannot tell you, my children,” said the old man, drawing his hand before his eyes, “how her sweet face changed, as the dreadful sight met her eyes; but the same grave where they laid poor Henry was opened twice in two weeks, and his mother was placed by his side. Little Lucy was left all alone in the world, till I persuaded my mother to take her to our home, and let me be her brother, in place of the one she had lost. And I have spent my life in trying to make poor Lucy happy. And now, my dear children, you know why I so often urge you to obey your parents, and be willing to do as they wish. May none of you learn the importance of this, by so painful a lesson as was mine.”