In the evening, as soon as it began to get dark, we joined the crowds wending down Elm Street toward March's Hill.
People who lived in that neighborhood, people whose back yards afforded a good view of the fireworks, found themselves suddenly popular. It was astonishing how many friends they had. Acquaintances whom they had not seen for a year began to invade their gardens, shake hands cordially, and show themselves perfectly willing to sit on their chairs and camp-stools, or even their back door-steps.
The fireworks passed off in the usual blaze of glory, and about half-past nine I walked wearily home with my father and mother. Even then, we could see, through the trees of Elm Street, distant rockets streaming up the sky, pausing for an instant, and then vanishing with a far-off "T'lock!"
A shower of sparks hung for a while in the sky, disappeared, and left all quiet and black, except for the twinkling stars.
CHAPTER VIII
THE GREEN CHEST
Jimmy Toppan was worth knowing for the sake of his grandmothers, if for no other reason. He had two of them. With one, and a great-aunt, he lived on Elm Street.
The other grandmother was mistress of a farm in the country, to which we often went. There were uncles and aunts there, too, but it was Grandmother Toppan who seemed best to understand our needs. When we were at the farm she knew the exact hours (about eleven in the morning, and again about half-past four in the afternoon) when a large slice of apple pie is most useful.