"Yes, here they are at last," said Mr. Cornwallis, as soon as he had given them a thorough looking over--"the pestiferous boys, the rackety firecrackers, the indulgent mamma and the blindly patriotic papa, if I mistake not. I fear we shall have to move on." "No! no, papa! Let's stay. I'm sure I can endure it now. I'm so much better and perhaps we can talk to them and tell them about our experience with the dangerous things and make them more careful. Let's try it, papa. I hate the idea of running away from our own people. I begin to think it isn't quite right." "It's far safer to stay here than to go home," remarked Mrs. Cornwallis, "where there are hundreds of armed boys to the four that are here." Mr. Cornwallis gave it up and they stayed. Ruth lost no time in making the acquaintance of the American family, at least of Mrs. Bearington and the boys, nor any opportunity of impressing upon them the danger of playing with fireworks. She gave her own experience as proof. She told them of the terrible accidents that had happened in her own town and of her little brother's mysterious death that had wrecked her health, broken her father's and mother's hearts and made them fugitives from home. "Do you hear that, Robbie," said Mrs. Bearington to her oldest son. "You know that mamma has always been afraid you would get hurt, handling those dreadful things." "Papa bought them for us and I want mine now," said the boy bluntly. "I know how to handle them." "Have a care my boy. You may not know as much as you think you do. If you should have an accident, your papa would never buy any more for you, and mamma would never forgive herself," said Mrs. Bearington in her soft-hearted, unreasoning way. "But the accident!" gasped Ruth. "How can you risk it? It might be of the kind that could never be repaired--the loss of a hand or an eye!" "Oh! dear, dear! it's too horrible to think of," exclaimed Mrs. Bearington, nervously. "Perhaps if you should think of it, you would see your way out," persisted Ruth. "There are so many beautiful things made for children now-a-days." Then, she turned to the boys and asked: "Can't you tell me of anything you would like better than those evil looking, nasty smelling, dangerous fire crackers and things? Something that you could keep instead of burning up?" The three older boys maintained a dubious silence while Teddy the youngest cried out: "O mamma! I'd rather have a bugle! A real nice big bugle!" "He makes me think of little Laurens," said Ruth turning to Mrs. Bearington with a sob. "He asked mamma 'why they didn't have a bugle instead of a cannon on Schwarmer Hill,' the very morning before he was killed." They looked at each other for a moment in sympathetic silence. Then Mrs. Bearington turned quite bravely to the boys.