d she was obliged to
content herself with sitting by Thorny, and watching with breathless
interest the varying fortunes of "our side."

A grand match was planned for the Fourth of July; but when the club met,
things were found to be unpropitious. Thorny had gone out of town with
his sister to pass the day, two of the best players did not appear, and
the others were somewhat exhausted by the festivities, which began at
sunrise for them. So they lay about on the grass in the shade of the big
elm, languidly discussing their various wrongs and disappointments.

"It's the meanest Fourth I ever saw. Can't have no crackers, because
somebody's horse got scared last year," growled Sam Kitteridge, bitterly
resenting the stern edict which forbade free-born citizens to burn as
much gunpowder as they liked on that glorious day.

"Last year Jimmy got his arm blown off when they fired the old cannon.
Didn't we have a lively time going for the doctors and getting him
home?" asked another boy, looking as if he felt defrauded of the most
interesting part of the anniversary, because no accident had occurred.

"Ain't going to be fireworks either, unless somebody's barn burns up.
Don't I just wish there would," gloomily responded another youth who had
so rashly indulged in pyrotechnics on a former occasion that a
neighbor's cow had been roasted whole.

"I wouldn't give two cents for such a slow old place as this. Why, last
Fourth at this time, I was rumbling though Boston streets on top of our
big car, all in my best toggery. Hot as pepper, but good fun looking in
at the upper windows and hearing the women scream when the old thing
waggled round and I made believe I was going to tumble off, said Ben,
leaning on his bat with the air of a man who had seen the world and felt
some natural regret at descending from so lofty a sphere.

"Catch me cuttin' away if I had such a chance as that!" answered Sam,
trying to balance his bat on his chin and getting a smart rap across the
nose as he failed to perform the feat.

"Much you know about it, old chap. It's hard work, I can tell you, and
that wouldn't suit such a lazy-bones. Then you are too big to begin,
though you might do for a fat boy if Smithers wanted one," said Ben,
surveying the stout youth, with calm contempt.

"Let's go in swimming, not loaf round here, if we can't play," proposed
a red and shiny boy, panting for a game of leap-frog in Sandy pond.

"May as well; don't see much e