"What form is their celebration to take?" asked little Peter Wheatly.
"Fireworks, principally. Real stunners! Not just a few Roman candles and sky-rockets, but flower-pots throwing up colored balls that burst into stars, zigzagging serpents, and all sorts of things, such as have never been seen round here before. Why, our big bonfire and giant crackers will be nowhere."
"Right you are there, Cap," said Hugh. "They will have all the country down on the Green patting them on the back for their public spirit, while we occupy a back seat. It's a pretty bright move for the Lilies, and I don't see how we can prevent it."
"Get up a counter-attraction. Pyro—pyro—what do you call 'em will make a good deal finer show from Round Knob than down yonder in the dale."
"Sure. But where are your pyrotechnics to come from?"
"From the city, of course. See here, I wrote to a firm there as soon as I learned the Lilies' secret, and they sent me a price-list." Young Duckworth produced a very gay red and yellow circular, but the boys only looked at each other in blank amazement. The hillside farmers were nearly all land poor, gaining but a bare subsistence out of the rocky New England soil and seldom had a dime, much less dollars, to squander on mere amusement.
"Guess you think we are Rothschilds or Vanderbilts," snickered small Peter.
"Pennies always burn a hole in my pocket and drop right out," said Mark.
"I might chip in a copper cent and a nickel with a dig in it," drawled Hugh, and there was no one else who could do better.