Peter proposed to reform the whole thing. He boldly suggested that we go outside our own circles and arrest the Irish boys,--those who went in the winter to the parochial school. It would have to be done with all the majesty of the law, and that required a billy for each policeman. These were duly made out of broomsticks. With great pains a hole was burned through the top of each with a red-hot poker. Then a cord was passed through the hole, so the billy might be dangled and swung. We were now ready for the prisoners, and our first campaign was all that the heart could wish. We waylaid a group of boys, and, without much struggle, soon had a prisoner in each cell. After a little we let them go. They hurried off, remarking that they would get even with us. These wholesale arrests were continued for two or three days, and all went happily. It was not until a week afterward that the reckoning came. Then a crowd of the outraged prisoners found Ed Mason and me alone, fell upon us, and beat us full sore. Without the whole force of police our authority had waned, and once again it became apparent that humiliation was ever our fortune in feats of arms. It was this last straw that led to our singular revolt on the day of the famous cowboy and Indian raid. We outraged all the proprieties, turned against the white man, and showed a criminal disregard for the cause of civilization. But for once victory rested with us. We plucked success out of failure, and found that it was good. When we had it, we declined to let it go. Force of arms had decided the issue, and we accepted its arbitrament. Argument could not move us. The worm turned, and the turning of him was terrible. A hot and languorous day in August saw the great battle of redskins and palefaces. Nothing in the weather stirred us to mighty deeds. The long afternoon had dragged on to half-past four. For two hours we had roamed the street, the gardens, and back yards. A dulness settled over things. The ph[oe]be-bird who sat on Mr. Hawkins's woodshed reiterated his dismal note, as though the weariness of the dog-days had entered his very soul. "Phe-e-e--be-e-e-e," he remarked, with that falling inflection on the last syllable that would dampen the spirits of a circus clown. "Phe-e-e--be-e-e." Mr. Hawkins himself leaned over his gate and smoked his pipe. An ice-cart came lumbering down the street. That, at least, was interesting. We hurried to meet it, and each possessed himself of a lump of ice. Then we perched, some on my fence and some on the blue box that held the garden hose. We removed the straw and sawdust from the ice, and began to suck it. Mr. Hawkins, having taken his clay pipe from his mouth, engaged in a conversation with the driver of the ice-cart on the prospects of rain. We watched them languidly. They debated the question at length, until the dripping water from the ice-cart had formed three dark spots in the dusty street.