ny others stayed at home and
talked about it.

Mrs. Bryant, Oscar's mother, said: "Dear me, I am tired and sick of
hearing about 'bleeding Kansas.' I do wish, husband, you would find
something else to talk about before Oscar. You have got him so worked
up that I shouldn't be the least bit surprised if he were to start off
with some of those tired-looking immigrants that go traipsing through
the town day by day." Mrs. Bryant was growing anxious, now that her
husband was so much excited about the Kansas-Nebraska struggle, as it
was called, he could think of nothing else.

CHAPTER II.

THE FIRE SPREADS.

One fine morning in May, Mr. Bryant was standing at his front gate
watching for his brother-in-law, Mr. Howell, to come down the street.

He held a newspaper in his hand, and with this, loosely rolled, he was
impatiently tapping on the gate as Mr. Howell drew near. Evidently
something had happened to disturb him.

"See here, Aleck," he exclaimed, as soon as his brother-in-law was
within the sound of his voice, "I can stand this sort of thing no
longer. I'm bound to go to Kansas. I've been thinking it over, and I
have about made up my mind to go. Brubaker will take my store and the
good-will of the concern. Oscar is wild to go, and his mother is
perfectly able to take care of the house while I am getting ready for
her to come out. What d'ye say? Will you go too?"

"Well," said Mr. Howell, slowly, "you nearly take my breath away!
What's happened to stir you up so?"

"Just listen to this!" cried the other, "just listen!" and, unfolding
his newspaper, he read, with glowing cheeks and kindling eyes, an
account of an attack made by some of the "pro-slavery men," as they
were named, on a party of free-State immigrants who had attempted to
cross the river near Kansas City. His voice trembled with excitement,
and when he had finished reading, he asked his companion what he
thought of that.

Mr. Howell looked pensively down the street, now embowered with the
foliage of early summer, noted the peaceful aspect of the village, and
the tranquil picture which gardens, cottages, and sauntering groups of
school-children presented, and then said slowly, "I never was much of
a hand at shooting, Charles, leastways, shooting at folks; and I don't
know that I could take steady aim at a man, even if I knew he was a
Border Ruffian out gunning for me. But I'm with you, Charles. Charlie
and Sandy can do a heap sight better in Ka