"Er--oh, what, my dear? Yes, Harold has just strayed off,--up the street, I think,--I'll find him all right." And Mr. Dimmick hurried away. We spent the morning, after breakfast, in the midst of a delicious cloud of powder smoke. "Dynamite" crackers had not been invented then, and nobody got hurt at all,--except Rob Currier, who burned his thumb slightly on a piece of slow-match. Charley Carter's father, a man of untold wealth, bought a dozen bunches of fire-crackers, and fired them _a whole bunch at a time_! We stood around in awe at the delightful noise and the princely extravagance of it. At noon all the church bells rang for an hour, and we went down to the foot of River Street to hear "Gunner Hunt" and his assistants fire a salute. Mr. Jones was there, leaning on his Napoleon cane, and regarding the spectacle with a sarcastic grin. It probably seemed a pretty small business to him, compared with his famous battle. We had ice-cream for dinner, and strawberry shortcake, and ginger-ale. There were other things,--lamb and green peas, I believe, in which the grown-ups were interested. In the afternoon we saw the flag-raising on the Mall. The Mayor made a speech, and so did General Cogswell, but the speeches did not appeal to us especially. Luckily a horse ran away, so we found some entertainment. Then Dr. Macey treated us all to lemonade, and more ice-cream. If we had had any doubts of what the Mayor said about the Declaration of Independence being the most important event in the history of mankind, such doubts would have been removed. In the evening, as soon as it began to get dark, we joined the crowds wending down Elm Street toward March's Hill. People who lived in that neighborhood, people whose back yards afforded a good view of the fireworks, found themselves suddenly popular. It was astonishing how many friends they had. Acquaintances whom they had not seen for a year began to invade their gardens, shake hands cordially, and show themselves perfectly willing to sit on their chairs and camp-stools, or even their back door-steps. The fireworks passed off in the usual blaze of glory, and about half-past nine I walked wearily home with my father and mother. Even then, we could see, through the trees of Elm Street, distant rockets streaming up the sky, pausing for an instant, and then vanishing with a far-off "T'lock!" A shower of sparks hung for a while in the sky, disappeared, and left all quiet and black, except for the twinkling stars. CHAPTER VIII THE GREEN CHEST Jimmy Toppan was worth knowing for the sake of his grandmothers, if for no other reason. He had two of them. With one, and a great-aunt, he lived on Elm Street.