been a perpetual pack of fire-crackers, going off one at a time.

Once they were out of the village and into the country road, the work
became easier, and Barlow could now and then sit down and pant awhile
before opening a fresh bark.

"You're the boy for me," said the Deacon, from the wagon. "But ain't you
afraid that dog o' yourn'll bark himself to death?"

"No, sir, he's used to it. Our brindled heifer always keeps him
barking."

"You don't say! Well, I'm glad I know your folks. What do you mean to do
with your money?"

"Fourth of July, sir."

"That's it. I declare! Well, now, I might have thought of that.
Gingerbread, nuts, candy--"

"No, sir. Fire-crackers."

"You don't say! Look out for that cow; she's heading down the road
again. Hear that dog bark! I declare!"

She was quickly headed right again, and Deacon Giddings had by no means
got to the end of the questions he wanted to ask.

They were not all about Jed's own affairs. In fact, he seemed willing to
know everything there was to be known about the Pullman family, and all
their relations, and all their neighbors.

Jed was willing enough to answer, whenever the cow would let him, and it
made the long walk in the hot sun go by faster and easier.

It was slow enough even then, and by the time they reached Penniman's
Corners, seven miles from the village, Deacon Giddings remarked, "Twelve
o'clock, I declare! Jedediah Rittenhouse Pullman, you and I and the
horses must have something to eat. The cow too, if she can stand still
long enough."

Jed had been thinking of that very thing for the last mile or two, and
he was glad enough to drive the cow into the tavern barn-yard.

Barlow stood at the gate for a minute or so after it was shut, and
barked his best. Enough to last the cow while they were getting their
dinners.

The tavern at Penniman's Corners was not so large as some there are in
London and Paris and New York, but it was a wonderful thing to Jed, and
so was the long dinner table, nearly three times as long as his mother's
biggest table at home. There must have been more than two dozen people
at that table.

"Jedediah," said the Deacon, before a great while, "you sit still. Eat
all you can. I'm going to see about something."

Jed was busy with a great ear of boiled corn, and all he could do was to
nod; but when he at last came out of the dining-room, there was news
waiting for him.

A big son of Deacon Giddings had come on horseback to