dn't come up from the river--it came from Hall!" He gripped her arm
with sudden excitement; then, as she began to protest, "Don't talk, woman,
but help me along! It came from Hall, I tell you!"

Master Calvin defied Myra bravely enough while she threatened, and even
while she piled a little heap of gunpowder under the sycamore and
ostentatiously sprinkled a train of it across the roadway. He supposed
that she intended only to frighten him.

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 a