About this time a picnic was planned by the villagers, to be held in a grove beside the river. Everything was arranged beforehand, so that no hitch might occur; but, for all that, a hitch did occur, since seventeen plum-cakes and five hundred and nine tarts were baked. A fire was to be lighted on an “island” in the river, and another on the shore; and over those fires, something, no one could have told exactly what, was to be boiled. Boats were to be provided to ferry the picnickers to and from the said island. By the way, this pigmy island was prettily clothed with grass and flowers, and presented a fine appearance from the river; therefore, by the poetical, it was appropriately named “The Conservatory.” It was also roundish in shape, and therefore, from the vulgar, it received the unique nickname of “The Saucer.” Our heroes generally gave it the latter name.

The children of the school, of course, to be present in all their finery, with their elders in attendance, to keep them from destroying themselves.

Now, Stephen knew all the plans that had been formed, and it occurred to him that it would be a capital joke if he should take a bunch of fire-crackers along with him, and introduce it secretly into one of the two fires.

“Of course,” he said to himself, “I wouldn’t poke ’em in while any of the ladies or little youngsters were around; I’d do it while none but boys were there. No; for I don’t want to get mixed up in any more tricks!”

The longer Steve meditated this, the more determined he was to do it; for he had not yet learned that an action,[127] harmless in itself, may lead to unpleasant, if not serious, results.

On the day before the picnic, he applied to a shop-keeper for the crackers. In vain; the “Glorious Fourth” was passed too long. “But, to accommodate you, I can get some in a few days, I suppose,” the shop-keeper said, with great benevolence. “How many bunches do you want?”

“No, I want them to-day, or not at all;” Steve said, as he turned to leave the shop.

But he did not give up hope yet. He thought of Will, and the next minute was on his way to see him. By what fatality was he sent there?

“Oh, yes, Steve; I happen to have a whole bunch of them;” said Will. “You see, I had more than I wanted last Fourth, so I was saving these, but you can have them all.”

“Yes,” said Stephen; “but I guess you’re the only boy I ever heard of that couldn’t fire off all his crackers. Why, I could make use of a barn-yard full of them!”

“So could I, Steve; but I scorched my hand, and had to stop firing them.”

“Yes, I remember it, Will; that’s the reason I came to you. But I don’t see why you didn’t fire ’em when your hand got well.” Then to himself: “Just like Will; wonder he didn’t scorch his head off.”

“Well, Steve, let us look for those same crackers,” said Will.

But they had been mislaid, and the two boys conducted the search almost at random. In length of time they came upon a little wooden box.

“Here they are, Steve!” Will exclaimed. “This is the very box I put them in; but I don’t know how they got here, among father’s guns. But then I wasn’t keeping track of them—in fact, I had forgotten that I had them till you spoke about them.”

“Thank you, Will!” said Steve, with a broad grin, as he took the box.

Then, with thumb and forefinger, he tried to open it, to take out the crackers and gloat over them. But he could[128] not force it open. “What’s the matter with this box, Will?” he asked. “I can’t open it at all.”

“That’s queer,” said Will; “likely the lid has swollen. Well, take them, box and all, Steve; and if you break it in opening it, it won’t be any great loss.”

Steve mumbled a feeble remonstrance, but pocketed the box and turned to go.

“But what are you going to do with the fire-crackers?” Will suddenly asked, as a dread suspicion entered his mind.

Steve looked disconcerted, and said something like, “Oh, you’ll see.”

Now, when a boy falters and says, “you’ll see,” it is generally safe to infer that he is plotting mischief.

Will evidently thought so, for as Steve whisked out of the house and over the gate, he said to himself, “I believe Steve is working up some trick again. And to-morrow is the picnic! Well, Stunner, I’ll just keep an eye on you!”

On reaching home, Stephen found that he could not open the box without tearing it to pieces, and he decided that he would put the fire-crackers, box and all, into the fire.

“That’ll be the easiest way to open the pesky old box,” he said. “Of course the crackers won’t go off till it is burnt, but a rousing old fire will soon burn it.”

Having formed this determination, the boy’s mind was at rest. If, however, he had succeeded in opening the box, he would have found not fire-crackers, but gunpowder; for Will had made another blunder, and given him a box filled with powder. This box belonged to Mr. Lawrence; he having bought it a few days before, filled it with powder, and put it away among his guns. The reader now understands that it was not the box Will thought it was. The reason why Steve could not open it, was because the lid caught with a hidden spring.

If that box should be introduced into the fire, it would make more of a “stir” than fire-crackers, and give somebody a little employment in setting things to rights.

The next day was the picnic. The sun shone bright, and promised a peerless September day. This was agreeable;[129] and the juveniles flocked to the scene in good time, with a hungry look in their eyes—a look that always plays over a boys visage when pursuing his way to a picnic, or “anniversary.” Stephen, of course, was there; full of animal spirits, and with the box straining the lining of his coat-pocket.

A fire was soon lighted on the island, but Steve did not find an opportunity to put his crackers into it so soon as he expected; for, warm as the day was, the little boys crowded eagerly around it, discovering their delight in exultant shouts, and heaping on more brush with never-ending amusement.

Steve idled about patiently a few minutes, and then determined to leave the island for awhile, till the youngsters had either sought some newer source of pleasure, or else burnt their fingers or scorched their garments.

Unknown to Steve, Will, who had guessed how and when the boy intended to use the fire-crackers, was watching him sharply. Will had also discovered the mistake that had been made, and consequently was all the more anxious to keep a watchful eye on Steve. He had planned, moreover, to turn the tables, and play a knavish trick of his own on incorrigible Stephen.

Mr. Lawrence had said to him, “Now, Will, seeing that Steve is preying on my valuables, you must make the best of it, and teach the idleheaded fellow a lesson. You may do whatever you please; but don’t let an explosion take place. The powder, I think, got damp the other day, and so it wouldn’t explode for some time—even if he should drop the box plump into the fire. In fact, unless he has succeeded in opening it, which is doubtful, he will probably put it into the fire. Let him do it; you can snatch it out again. If, on the other hand, he has forced the box open, both his trick and your trick will be spoiled. Perhaps that would be best. Now, Will, above all, do not frighten other people.”

It will be seen that Mr. Lawrence had guessed Steve’s intention. But he was wrong in permitting his son to meddle in the trick. The straightforward way would have been to tell Stephen what the box really held, and then he would have given it up directly.

[130]

No doubt, gentle reader, you are tired of these beggarly little “tricks.” But have patience a little longer, O reader, for when this last trick is finished, we shall wing our way along smoothly throughout the rest of the book without any tricks whatever.

When Will saw Stephen leave “Conservatory Isle” he thought himself at liberty to take his ease for awhile, and coolly taking possession of an unoccupied boat, rowed over to the shore.

While drifting along the shore, a spruce gentleman hailed him, and asked to be ferried across the river.

“Yes, sir,” said Will, placing the boat in a favorable position for the gentleman to enter it. He sprang in lightly, saying, “I’ve forgotten something over there: take me as fast as you can.”

In nervous haste to do his best, Will gave the boat a vigorous shove, and then looked his passenger full in the face. The latter also looked at Will. The recognition was mutual; for if Will recognized the peculiar features of the newspaper genius whom he had shot with poison in his youth, the newspaper genius likewise recognized the remarkably talented son of the lady who had been his hostess when he visited the neighborhood some years previously.

Letting his emotions get the better of his principles, the man uttered a cry of horror, mechanically rose to his feet, and fetched a random leap for the shore. But the motion that Will had communicated to the boat had placed it some distance from the shore, and the impetus of the leap adding to that distance, the leaper found himself in deep water, in the exact position the boat had occupied a moment before. Any boy at all acquainted with the navigation of boats, rafts, or anything floatable, can substantiate this.

Then the unfortunate man said something very wicked—too wicked, in fact, to be set down in a story like this. Then he struggled to reach the shore, but Will said, politely, “Don’t try to get ashore, sir, or you will get covered with mud. The best thing to do is to climb into the boat again; I’ll help you.”

[131]

This was clearly the wiser proceeding of the two, and the man, feeling very foolish, scrambled out of the water into the boat.

Bending a ferocious gaze on the innocent boatman, he asked roughly, “Can you row?”

Will proudly answered in the affirmative, and the disgusted picnicker—elaborating a dolorous sigh as he flirted his eyes over his tousled and mud-spattered garments, and experiencing an emotion of regret as he thought of a new cabinet photograph of himself, that was tucked away in his coat-tail pocket—said snappishly:—

“Then take me to some sheltered place where I can wring out my clothes a little, and afterwards I’ll find my way to the fire on the island. Can I get dry there in peace, and alone?”

“I think so, after a few minutes,” said Will, tugging stoutly at his oars.

“Well,” mused the dripping newspaper man, as he sat dejectedly in the boat, with his head resting on his disordered cravat, “I—I—was very foolish to jump overboard; but it is strange that I should encounter this wretch when I least expected it. Much amusement I shall have to-day, in these wet clothes. Well,” firmly, “I will never return to this village while this bane of my life inhabits it!”

After landing the luckless Mr. Sarjent at a sequestered spot, Will pointed his way back to the island, to look after Stephen. He arrived just in time. Steve and a choice band of his school-fellows were grouped about the fire, and the little folk had sought other quarters.

At first Will feared that he was too late; but he was reassured on seeing Stephen dodgin............