Nor would any mischief have happened had he kept his perch. The heap of gunpowder was too small to do serious damage--though he may well be excused for misdoubting this. But when Myra struck a match and challenged him for the last time, he called to her not to play the fool, and began to scramble down for dear life. In truth, for two or three minutes he had been feeling strangely giddy, and to make matters worse, was suddenly conscious of a horrible burning pain in his side. So intolerable was the pain, that he clutched at it with one hand; and missing his hold with the other, slipped and hung dangling over the powder, supported only by the bough under the crook of his armpit. At that instant, while he struggled to recover his balance, Myra was horrified to see smoke curling about his jacket; a fiery shred of tobacco and jacket-lining dropped from his plucking fingers. She had flung away her match and was running forward--the burning stuff fell so slowly, there was almost time to catch it--when the ground at her feet leapt up with a flame and a bang, and Master Calvin thudded down upon the explosion. She ran to him. He was not dead, for at once he began screaming at the pitch of his voice; but his features were black, his smallclothes torn, and his legs writhed in a terrifying way. His screams sank to groans as she beat out the smouldering fire in his jacket-lining; and for a while she could get no other answer from him. By and by she lost patience, and shook him by the shoulder. "Oh, get Up for goodness' sake! I believe you're more frightened than hurt; but if you're really hurt, sit up and tell me what's the matter." "Let me alone," groaned Calvin. "I want to die." "Fiddlesticks--'want to die'! Come along to the pump and wash yourself." "You're a wicked girl! You tried to kill me!" "I didn't. I wanted to frighten you, and--and I'm sorry; but you fired the powder yourself with your nasty pipe, and you've burnt a hole in your pocket. You'd best come along and get washed and changed before your father catches you. It looks to me you've lost one of your eyebrows, but the other one's so pale I daresay 'twon't be noticed. Or I might give you a pair with a piece of burnt cork." It was while she stood considering this that Mr. Sam and her aunt made their appearance round the corner of the road. "Whatever in the round world have you children been doin'?" panted Mrs. Purchase, and wound up with a gasp at sight of Calvin's face. "I believe I'm going to die!" The boy began to writhe again. "What has happened?" his father demanded, with a shake in the voice, stooping to lift him. "She--she tried to kill me!" Calvin pointed at her with vindictive finger, and at once clasped both hands over his stomach. "I did not," retorted Myra. "Ask her who brought the powder and laid a train right under me! Ask her what she's doing with that box of matches!"