So there was an end of the old man’s troubles from the Yateshull boys: and when he found that they were really sorry and ashamed of themselves, he went and begged Mr. Warlingham to excuse them the remainder of their punishment. But this the Vicar would not do. “I never punish, if I can help it,” said he, “but when I do, I take care that the punishment shall be both felt and remembered.” “Well then, Sir,” said the old man, “if I live till next year, and they are good boys, and spare the hedges, I will give them some sticks to make a famous bonfire with.” And so he did; but meanwhile the Vicar had been turning in his mind how he could secure the boys their pleasure, and at the same time keep them out of their temptation to do mischief. Accordingly, a day or two before the next Fifth of November he went down to the school, and told the boys that it was his intention to give them half-a-crown yearly on that day to buy faggots with, so that they might make their bonfire with what was honestly their own: but he told them at the same time, that if, after this, he heard any more complaints of hedges being broken, he should not only not give any more half-crowns, but put a stop to the bonfire altogether. You may guess how pleased the boys were when they heard Mr. Warlingham’s kind intentions, and they all promised that they would not draw a stick from the hedges, and I am glad to say they kept their promise. Well, on the Fifth of November, they got up almost before it was light, and as they went along the village in their way to the place where the bonfire was usually made, you might have heard some forty or fifty voices shouting with all their might the old song, “Remember, remember, The Fifth of November, Gunpowder Treason, and Plot. I don’t see the reason Why Gunpowder Treason Should ever be forgot.” I dare say there were not half-a-dozen in the whole number who thought, or perhaps knew anything about the Gunpowder Plot; that dreadful crime which was so nearly being accomplished about 240 years ago, when some most wicked men plotted together to blow up and kill the King and all the Parliament. The boys had always been in the habit of throwing an old scarecrow into the bonfire, and of calling it their “Guy,” but there were not many, I believe, who could tell anything about Guy Fawkes. If any of my readers are in the same state of ignorance, I advise them to get some friend to tell them all about this conspiracy. They will find it a most interesting story; one that shews the wonderful working of God’s Providence, and the wickedness at which men may arrive, when they forget their duty to their neighbour, and permit themselves to do evil, in order that what _they_ call good may come of it.