"Edwin," said his kind teacher, "do you not know that my house might have been burned to the ground by your carelessness?—and this night, which we expected to spend so joyfully, we might have been without a roof to cover us? I must punish you to make you remember this accident, which your thoughtless disobedience has occasioned. You must remain in the study until dinner-time. The rest of the boys may go out."
When the boys were out on the lawn again, they got together in a knot, to talk about the accident. Some were very angry with Edwin, and said Mr. Harrison ought to have given him a tremendous flogging; but others were more generous. They were just as sorry for the loss of their fireworks; but, when they looked towards the house, and saw little Edwin gazing mournfully at them from the study window, and wiping away the tears that fell from his eyes, they were more sorry for him, and wished that he could be out among them. Still, they knew it was right that he should be punished.
"Come, boys," said Phil, when they had been standing there talking some time,—"come, let us go and see if anything is left."
They all ran to the play-room, and some of the boys cried out to Edwin,—
"Don't cry, little fellow; we forgive you."
"Why here," shouted Phil—"here's a lot of Roman candles all safe and sound. Hurrah!"
"And here are six wheels in this corner," cried Thomas. "We are not so badly off, after all."
The boys at this good news began to rummage under the pile of ruins, and managed to collect quite a respectable quantity of fireworks. There were enough left to make a display with in the evening, though not near so splendid as they had intended.
"Hurrah!" cried the boys, "we have plenty of Fifth of November left."
"I have lots of crackers outside," said Phil; "but we won't fire them off now. They will do for the small boys to-night. Let us go to the stable, and pay our respects to Napoleon, and Old Pudding-head. They will think themselves quite neglected on this glorious occasion."