But the climax of the day was reached when Jim brought the minister home to supper. How it happened that the minister appeared upon the scene at tea-time, Miss Lucinda could not understand; but when he arrived, and Jim whispered in a loud aside, “I thought p’r’aps he might stay to supper,” there was no alternative but a cordial invitation, which the minister accepted promptly. Miss Lucinda likewise never knew the remarks with which Jim escorted the minister to the house. “She’s the very nicest woman in the world,” he told the minister, “and I think she thinks you’re a pretty nice sort of a chap.” The minister never repeated these compliments of Jim’s to Miss Lucinda. After tea, Jim’s secret was revealed; he had invested the larger part of his small earnings in fireworks, which he was quite sure Miss Lucinda would enjoy, and he had invited the minister to supper that he might help him set them off. So Miss Lucinda came out on the porch in the darkness, and the minister and Jim paraded about in the neat little garden in front, and proceeded to diminish Jim’s purchases. Presently the minister came up on the piazza and sat down beside Miss Lucinda, for the remaining fireworks could easily be disposed of by Jim. But just as the minister was considering whether the time was propitious for an advancement of his own interests, there came a sudden sharp cry from Miss Lucinda, and he turned to see a line of flame running about the paper belt of the gallant little showman. The minister was quick in his movements, and was down the path and had Jim in his arms and the fire smothered in a few moments, while Miss Lucinda was by his side, sobbing and bending over Jim’s little form. “Oh, let me see him,” she cried; “the dear child! Is he hurt very badly?” Jim wriggled a little in the minister’s arms, and opening his eyes, smiled on her. “Now don’t you worry,” he said cheerily, “I ain’t hurt.” “But I’m ’fraid I’ve spoilt my suit,” he added when the minister had placed him on the lounge in Miss Lucinda’s little sitting-room. “Oh, never mind the suit!” Miss Lucinda cried, and Jim looked up at her in reproachful surprise. But it was quite true that he was not hurt, though rather weak from the fright, and presently he came out again, between the minister and Miss Lucinda, to sit on the piazza and watch the neighbors’ fireworks. Jim, on the little stool at Miss Lucinda’s feet, leaned his head against her knee. “I don’t care, it’s been a fine Fourth o’ July,” he murmured. “So it has,” echoed the minister; “don’t you think so, Lucinda?” But Miss Lucinda’s only answer was a blush and a consenting silence. “Do you mind now if I call you aunt?” Jim’s voice asked. Miss Lucinda laid her hand gently on Jim’s head. “No, dear,” she said softly; “no.” “You might call me uncle,” suggested the minister. Jim nodded brightly. “All right,” he said promptly; “then we’ll be a reg’lar family.” And the new uncle and aunt smiled in the darkness. VIII THE NEW FOURTH