Upon this Angelina disappeared, and in the pleasant twilight Martine went outside with her mother to the little retreat in the garden. "I half wish," said Mrs. Stratford, "that we had had a few fireworks. Even if we are shut off from the world, we ought not to forget the Fourth. I didn't suppose there would be much celebrating down here, but see!" Looking where her mother pointed, Martine saw a great fire balloon soaring slowly into the air. They watched it until it disappeared and as the twilight deepened, they counted many rockets and Roman candles going up in various directions. Before Martine could decide whether it would be wise to recall the Fourth when Lucian almost put his eye out by blowing into a fire-cracker to see if it was still burning, Angelina appeared on the scene with a number of packages. These she deposited on the slope in front of the house with consequential air. "Angelina," cried Mrs. Stratford. "Yes'm," responded Angelina. "Angelina," called Martine, and without waiting for a reply walked down to where the girl was undoing her packages. "Then you really have fire-crackers here?" "Yes, Miss Martine, and rockets, and Roman candles, and fire balloons, at least only one balloon. It didn't seem homelike not to have something doing on the Fourth, and now that I can spend my own money, there's no reason why I shouldn't celebrate." Martine had no reply for this unanswerable argument, and in a second she, too, was busy helping. "I might have bought some myself, if I had thought of it in time." "That's it, if you'd thought of it in time. My, that's fine," and Angelina clapped her hands, as a rocket shot into the air falling in a shower of golden stars. "I didn't know I could find pleasure in anything so simple," said Martine, returning to her mother's side. "It only shows how limited our life here is," and Mrs. Stratford sank back in her chair with a sigh. "Oh, fireworks amuse everybody," rejoined Martine, "but now I must run back to Angelina. The last, she says,--is finest of all--a fire balloon." After two or three ineffectual efforts Martine and Angelina at last had the pleasure of sending off the balloon. But alas! Instead of pursuing its upward way, it was borne horizontally by a wandering breeze, and at last was lost to sight. "I know," cried Angelina. "It has gone somewhere behind the buildings of that estate over the way. I must get it." And in a flash she had run toward the large house regarding whose occupants Martine had so often wondered. "Our celebration is over, I suppose," said Martine to her mother, "but we might as well stay outside a little longer, and see! What magnificent rockets are going up from the estate across the way." A change of intonation carried out Martine's mimicry of Angelina's words. "Yes, and there's a balloon that puts Angelina's to the blush," and mother and daughter watched the ball of fire dwindling in the upper air, until it was lost apparently among the stars.