ish
vessels?" asked our wily instructor.

"Threw it into the river!" shrieked the smaller boys, with an
impetuosity that made Mr. Grimshaw smile in spite of himself. One
luckless urchin said, "Chucked it," for which happy expression he was
kept in at recess.

Notwithstanding these clever stratagems, there was not much solid work
done by anybody. The trail of the serpent (an inexpensive but dangerous
fire-toy) was over us all. We went round deformed by quantities of
Chinese crackers artlessly concealed in our trousers-pockets; and if a
boy whipped out his handkerchief without proper precaution, he was sure
to let off two or three torpedoes.

Even Mr. Grimshaw was made a sort of accessory to the universal
demoralization. In calling the school to order, he always rapped on
the table with a heavy ruler. Under the green baize table-cloth, on the
exact spot where he usually struck, certain boy, whose name I withhold,
placed a fat torpedo. The result was a loud explosion, which caused Mr.
Grimshaw to look queer. Charley Marden was at the water-pail, at the
time, and directed general attention to himself by strangling for
several seconds and then squirting a slender thread of water over the
blackboard.

Mr. Grimshaw fixed his eyes reproachfully on Charley, but said nothing.
The real culprit (it wasn't Charley Marden, but the boy whose name I
withhold) instantly regretted his badness, and after school confessed
the whole thing to Mr. Grimshaw, who heaped coals of fire upon the
nameless boy's head giving him five cents for the Fourth of July. If
Mr. Grimshaw had caned this unknown youth, the punishment would not have
been half so severe.

On the last day of June the Captain received a letter from my father,
enclosing five dollars "for my son Tom," which enabled that young
gentleman to make regal preparations for the celebration of our national
independence. A portion of this money, two dollars, I hastened to invest
in fireworks; the balance I put by for contingencies. In placing the
fund in my possession, the Captain imposed one condition that dampened
my ardor considerably--I was to buy no gunpowder. I might have all the
snapping-crackers and torpedoes I wanted; but gunpowder was out of the
question.

I thought this rather hard, for all my young friends were provided with
pistols of various sizes. Pepper Whitcomb had a horse-pistol nearly as
large as himself, and Jack Harris, though he, to be sure, was a big
boy, was go