ly. By six o'clock he had the street which led
to the bridge barricaded in such a way that no motor-car could possibly
rush past. He set one of his wagons across the street with its back to
the house and its pole sticking out. In this position it left only a
narrow passage through which any vehicle could go. He set the other
wagon a little lower down with its back to the houses on the opposite
side of the street and its pole sticking out. Anyone driving towards the
bridge would have to trace a course like the letter S, and, the curves
being sharp, would be compelled to go very slowly, Willie surveyed this
arrangement with satisfaction. But to make quite sure of holding up the
traffic he stretched a rope from one wagon pole to the other so as to
block the centre part of the S. Then he posted his sentries and went
into the Court House to get some breakfast.

The people of Dunedin do not get up at six o'clock. Nowadays, owing to
the imposition of "summer time" and the loss of Ireland's half-hour of
Irish time, six o'clock is really only half-past four, and it is worse
than folly to get out of bed at such an hour. It was eight o'clock
by Willie Thornton's watch before the people became aware of what had
happened to their street. They were surprised and full of curiosity, but
they were not in the least annoyed. No one in Dunedin had the slightest
intention of rebelling. No one even wanted to shoot a policeman. The
consciences, even of the most ardent politicians, were clear, and
they could afford to regard the performance of the soldiers as an
entertainment provided free for their benefit by a kindly Government.
That was, in fact, the view which the people of Dunedin took of Willie
Thornton's barricade, and of his sentries, though the sentries ought
to have inspired awe, for they carried loaded rifles and wore shrapnel
helmets.

The small boys of the village--and there are enormous numbers of small
boys in Dunedin--were particularly interested. They tried the experiment
of passing through the barricade, stooping under the rope when they came
to it, just to see what the soldiers would do. The soldiers did nothing.
The boys then took to jumping over the rope, which they could do when
going downhill, though they had to creep under it on the way back. This
seemed to amuse and please the soldiers, who smiled amiably at each
successful jump. Kerrigan, the butcher, encouraged by the experience of
the small boys, made a solemn prog