BY ADA CARLETON STODDARD.
"Not a fire-cracker," Mr. Marden had said, looking around on his half-dozen boys—"not a single fire-cracker, nor pin-wheel, nor rocket this year, boys. You come pritty nigh burnin' up the hull town last Fourth, an' I don't want to run no more sech risks. Enj'y yourselves as well's you can other ways 'n that. Now mind!"
That was how and why—because of this interdiction of everything that goes to make a Fourth of July different from a fourth of August or any other day—the boys happened to think of going up the river fishing.
They were down on the river-bank, lying at full length on the green grass, when Jed Harden said, meditatively, tossing a pebble into the water, "There'll be no fun staying here, boys, 'thout we can fire off things."
Bud Rose laughed. He could never be serious. "It's because we fired off Jennings's barn last Fourth that everybody's so down on our celebrating this year," said he. "I wonder how the old thing got afire, anyhow?"
"Easy enough," rejoined Jed; "there was a heap of straw all round it, and I don't s'pose we were over 'n' above careful. The old shanty wasn't worth ten cents, but it came near burning up everybody else's buildings."
"So it did. After all, I don't blame folks much. There ain't such a sight of fun in snapping crackers, anyhow."
"But what shall we do?"
Charley Stevens looked up then. All this time he had not spoken, but lay gazing out on the river. "I move we go fishing up on Beaver Brook," said he. "Start before daylight, and stay till after dark."
"Second the motion. Hooray!"