irst one that came to hand, and which happened to be a tall
beaver--Mr. Perkins, barefoot and in his night-clothes, a not imposing
guardian of the peace, sped down the front stairs and out into the
street.

A cry of alarm, the rumble of cannon dragged by ropes over the shoulders
of a squad of youths in full flight, and the exclamations of the
indignant Mr. Perkins, marked the occasion.

Fear lent its wings to the pursued; wrath served to lighten the bare
heels of Mr. Perkins. He was gaining, when one of the youth, cumbered
in flight by his artillery piece, let go the string. The cannon
remaining in the path of Mr. Perkins, he stumbled over it, and it hurt
his toe. He paused and picked up the cannon, but relinquished it to
grasp his toe, which demanded all his attention. He decided, then and
there, that the pursuit, which had extended about three blocks, was
useless, and abandoned it. Limping slightly, he started homeward.

Somewhat like the British retreat from Concord and Lexington, was the
return of Mr. Perkins to his home. A piece of burning punk lay in the
road, and presently he stepped on that. The fleeing forces had doubled
on their tracks, also, and a fire-cracker exploded near him. Then a
torpedo. And there was no enemy in sight to take revenge on. Mr. Perkins
hastened his steps and was soon, himself, in full retreat.

Then, when presently he was conscious of the raising of curtains in
near-by windows, and felt the eyes of several of his neighbours directed
toward his weird costume, Mr. Perkins no longed walked. He ran. As he
closed the door behind him and tramped wearily up the stairs, the voice
of his son greeted him.

"Say, pa, is it time to get up now?"

Mr. Perkins's reply was most decidedly unpatriotic.

The hours went by, and a rapid fire of small artillery ran throughout
Benton and along its whole frontier line. Even the bells in the
steeples, no longer solemn, clanged forth their defiance to
authority--which was the only thing that slumbered in the town on this
occasion.

But Benton had other observances for its boisterous display of spirits,
the origin of which no one seemed to know, but which were participated
in each year by the new generation of youths, with careful observance of
tradition.

There were the "Horribles," for example, not to have ridden in which at
some time of one's life was to have left one page blank. The procession
of "Horribles," otherwise known as "Ragamuffins," usuall