But at last, with scissors and the gas pliers, they cut every fuse. The fuses were long, twisty, wire things covered with green wool, like blind-cords. Then Noel and H.O. (and Oswald for one thinks it showed a goodish bit of pluck, and policemen have been made heroes for less) got cans and cans of water from the tap by the greenhouse and poured sluicing showers of the icy fluid in among the internal machinery of the dynamite arrangement--for so they believed it to be. Then, very wet, but feeling that they had saved their Father and the house, they went and changed their clothes. I think they were a little stuck-up about it, believing it to be an act unrivalled in devotedness, and they were most tiresome all the afternoon, talking about their secret, and not letting us know what it was. But when Father came home, early, as it happened, those swollen-headed, but, in Oswald's opinion, quite-to-be-excused, kiddies learned the terrible truth. Of course Oswald and Dicky would have known at once; if Noel and H.O. hadn't been so cocky about not telling us, we could have exposed the truth to them in all its uninteresting nature. I hope the reader will now prepare himself for a shock. In a wild whirl of darkness, and the gas being cut off, and not being able to get any light, and Father saying all sorts of things, it all came out. Those coils and jars and wires in that cellar were not an infernal machine at all. It was--I know you will be very much surprised--it was the electric lights and bells that Father had had put in while we were at the Red House the day before. H.O. and Noel caught it very fully; and Oswald thinks this was one of the few occasions when my Father was not as just as he meant to be. My uncle was not just either, but then it is much longer since he was a boy, so we must make excuses for him. * * * * * We sent Mrs. Red House a Christmas card each. In spite of the trouble that her cellars had lured him into, Noel sent her a homemade one with an endless piece of his everlasting poetry on it, and next May she wrote and asked us to come and see her. _We_ try to be just, and we saw that it was not really her fault that Noel and H.O. had cut those electric wires, so we all went; but we did not take Albert Morrison, because he was fortunately away with an aged god-parent of his mother's who writes tracts at Tunbridge Wells. The garden was all flowery and green, and Mr. and Mrs. Red House were nice and jolly, and we had a distinguished and first-class time.