“Yes, I remember it, Will; that’s the reason I came to you. But I don’t see why you didn’t fire ’em when your hand got well.” Then to himself: “Just like Will; wonder he didn’t scorch his head off.”
“Well, Steve, let us look for those same crackers,” said Will.
But they had been mislaid, and the two boys conducted the search almost at random. In length of time they came upon a little wooden box.
“Here they are, Steve!” Will exclaimed. “This is the very box I put them in; but I don’t know how they got here, among father’s guns. But then I wasn’t keeping track of them—in fact, I had forgotten that I had them till you spoke about them.”
“Thank you, Will!” said Steve, with a broad grin, as he took the box.
Then, with thumb and forefinger, he tried to open it, to take out the crackers and gloat over them. But he could not force it open. “What’s the matter with this box, Will?” he asked. “I can’t open it at all.”
“That’s queer,” said Will; “likely the lid has swollen. Well, take them, box and all, Steve; and if you break it in opening it, it won’t be any great loss.”
Steve mumbled a feeble remonstrance, but pocketed the box and turned to go.
“But what are you going to do with the fire-crackers?” Will suddenly asked, as a dread suspicion entered his mind.
Steve looked disconcerted, and said something like, “Oh, you’ll see.”