interested.

"Because I had certain knowledge. Don't ask any further. It will all
come out, some day--the day I'm waiting and working for. You saw how he
was affected. Well, I threatened things that laid him out flat if he
dared to so much as place a straw in your path."

"I understand, now," said Bart.

He waited for a minute or two, hoping Baker would divulge something
further, but he did not do so, and Bart said good night, secured the
padlock on the outside, and left the place with a parting cheery
direction to his strange pensioner to sleep soundly and rest well.

The little ones were in bed when Bart got home, but his mother and the
girls were sitting on the porch. Pretty well tired out, Bart joined
them, and they all sat watching the last of the display of fireworks
over near the common.

"This has been a pretty dull Fourth for you, Bart," said his mother
sympathizingly.

"It has been a very busy Fourth, mother," returned Bart cheerfully--"I
might say a very hopeful, happy Fourth. Except for the anxiety about
father, I think I should feel very grateful and contented."

A graceful rocket parted the air at a distance, followed by the
delighted shouts of juvenile spectators.

"Upward and onward," murmured Mrs. Stirling, placing a tender, loving
hand on Bart's shoulder.

A second rocket went whizzing up. It raced the other, outdistanced it,
seemed bound for the furthest heights, never swerving from a true,
straight line.

Then it broke grandly, sending a radiant glow across the clear, serene
sky.

"That's my motto," said Bart, a touch of intense resolve in his
tones--"higher still!"

CHAPTER XIV

MRS. HARRINGTON'S TRUNK

"Hey, there! Stirling."

Bart was busy at his desk in the express office, but turned quickly as
he recognized the tones.

Trouble in the shape of Lem Wacker loomed up at the doorway.

"What is it?" asked Bart.

It was a week after the Fourth, and in all that time Bart had not seen
anything of the man whom he secretly believed was responsible for the
fire at the old express office.

"Who's the responsible party here?" demanded Lem, making a great ado
over consulting a book he carried.

"I am."

"All right, then--I represent Martin & Company, pickle factory."

"Oh, you've found a job, have you," spoke Bart, forced to smile at the
bombastic business air assumed by his visitor.

"I represent Martin & Company," came from Wacker, in a solemn,
dignified way. "Inspec