Leaving the newspaper man and the player of tricks to their different trains of thought,—the former enveloped in steam arising from his pants, the latter environed with gloom, and doubt, and mute despair, arising from his own misdeeds,—we shall shift the scene to Will paddling away in his boat.

“I can safely leave Steve now, while I look up Charley and the other boys,” Will thought, as he plied his oars.

Charley was soon found, and Will told him all about Stephen and the fire-crackers. Charley, of course, was delighted with Will’s artifice; and together the two planned to torment poor Stephen still further. With the co-operation of the other boys, they determined to execute the following programme: First, to bury the gunpowder under a large stone, on the shore farthest from the picknickers, with a boy in charge to fire the train at the proper time; secondly, to lure Stephen into a boat, row him down past the “arsenal,”—the sounding name Charles gave to the place where the powder was to be buried,—and when the explosion took place, let him infer that a catastrophe was the upshot of his trick.

[138]

In fiendish atrocity, this little plot probably outherods anything ever planned by boys. Their only hopes of success was that Steve would prove an easy victim. But they need not have been afraid; they were destined to carry their scheme.

Truly, as the ancient Romans used to say, “Fortune favors the brave.” Only, the ancient Romans probably said it in Latin.

“We can do it, Will,” Charles said, confidently, “and it will do poor deluded and misguided Stunner a good turn, if it teaches him to leave tricks to you and me. All that is necessary is, to lay our plans well, keep Steve’s back to the place where the explosion will come from, and play our parts with sober and horrified faces. The hole in the ground will be gazed at and admired about the time the picnic folks get the feast spread, and our little game will sharpen our appetites like a whet-stone. Now, let us go and find George, and Jim, and Marmaduke, and go to work.”

These worthies were hunted out forthwith; and when the plot was unfolded to them, they signified their readiness to take part in so good a trick against Stephen.

Jim threatened to do his best; but, in his own mind, determined to keep at a safe distance when proceedings actually began, though he locked this wise determination in his breast—which was capacious enough, if not strong enough, to keep it.

“It won’t amount to much, boys,” George observed, “because, you know, wet gunpowder has lost most of its virtue.”

“Why, how’s that?” Charles demanded. “Where did you find out that? Why, gunpowder hasn’t any virtue, anyhow.”

“No, of course not, what has powder to do with virtue?” Will chimed in.

“I tell you it has; don’t contradict folks that know!” the sage indignantly retorted. “Don’t you remember, John Hoyt, on that island, wasn’t afraid of being blown up, because he knew the powder had lost its virtue?”

“Y-e-s,” Charles reluctantly assented, “but I never[139] could understand how John knew that, when he’d always lived on that island, and never seen or heard of powder before.”

“I don’t understand that, either,” said George; “but John was right; he knew—or if he didn’t, the man that wrote the book did!”

That settled the question; the Sage had triumphed.

At length everything was arranged to the plotters’ satisfaction, and the Sage was detailed to fire the train.

“You won’t see much of the fun, George,” said Charles; “but you will understand the business. I never knew you to bungle anything; don’t bungle this.”

“You can’t expect much from wet gunpowder, but if you do your part as well as I intend to do mine, all right!” George replied with spirit.

They picked out a very good place to fire the powder, so far away from the scene of the picnic that no one would be likely to intrude on them.

“The boats are wanted very much just now,” said Will; “I wonder whether we can get one or not.”

Now, those boys knew that they were doing wrong, and the writer ventures to assert that they all cherished a secret hope that they would not succeed in carrying their little game.

But presently a bulky old gentleman (bulky is not used in contempt, but because it is well known that bulkiness and generosity are twin brothers), who owned a staunch little boat, told them to use his boat as much as they pleased. He did not suspect, however, that a party of dare-devil boys wanted it for their own exclusive use, but supposed that one or two of them purposed rowing indolent pleasure-seekers up and down the river. Had he guessed their nefarious designs, he would have moderated his generosity, and set out in quest of a peace-officer.

Thus put in possession, the four pulled stoutly for the island. They were in some doubt as to whether Steve would still be there, for not one dreamed that he had taken the matter so much to heart.

“Steve was a little uneasy when I left him,” said Will; “how do you suppose he feels about it now?”

[140]

“Oh!” said Charles, “he’s all right, I’ll wager. You may depend he hasn’t been moping over those fire-crackers all this time. No, he’s as lively as a baulky horse by this time; but our explosion will muddle his wits, all the same.”

“He’ll get his dander up when he finds it out,” Jim observed.

“I wonder if the boats are all gone, and he’s fast on the island,” Marmaduke speculated.

“Boys,” said Will, “if that wet and muddy fellow that I told you about, went back to the island, as he said he should, perhaps he has kept Steve from finding out that—”

“Pshaw! I tell you, Steve is all right!” Charles reiterated.

“Then, if the boy is all right, what is the use of our trick?” Will demanded. “We can’t scare him worthy a cent, if he’s all right.”

“I don’t make out what you’re driving at, Will. At first, you were eager to scare him; and now, you are talking in riddles.”

“I—I’m beginning to relent,” said Will, sheepishly.

“Well, we’ll see how he is, and settle that accordingly.”

“There they are!” said Marmaduke, sighting Steve and the ireful newspaper genius.

The boys recklessly waved their oars, and enthusiastically chorused a stentorian hollo.

Stephen, hearing his schoolfellows’ greeting, quickly turned round, and returned a faint, but joyous, hollo.

“How kind they are to come!” he said to himself. “Now, I guess it will be all serene; for they can soon tell me what to do. Well, the boys always were better to me than I deserved. I’ll tell them just how it is, and I don’t believe they’ll laugh at me a bit.”

“More boys!” groaned the steaming Mr. Sarjent. “More boys coming to torment me.”

The plotters soon landed, and crowded around Stephen.

“What a fire, Steve,” said Charley. “It smells as if you’d been burning a witch.”

[141]

“Come on, Steve,” said Will; “we’ve got a good boat, and we’re off for a cruise before they set the tables.”

Steve’s face brightened, then clouded, and he said, hopelessly, “I can’t go.”

“Can’t go?” echoed Charley. “Why, Stunner, what’s the matter with you? You look like a phantom, and here you sit, like an Indian idol; taking no exercise, having no fun, and doing nothing! Come now, you’ve got to go with us.”

“Charley,” Steve whispered, “don’t joke with me, nor make fun of me, for I can’t stand it. Charley, if you should have some old fire-crackers done up in a box, and you should put ’em into a fire, what do you suppose they would do?”

“Do?” said Charley. “Why, if they were old, as you say, they might be mildewed, for all you or I know, and burn up with the box, like so much solid wood—or else squib and hiss a little, and then go out.”

This novel and striking idea was too much for Steve’s fevered brain. Mildewed fire-crackers! His head swam; but with an effort he recovered himself, and flashed Charles such a look of gratitude that the plot came within an inch of crumbling into a woeful ruin.

“Poor fellow!” thought Charles. “Here he is fretting about those crackers yet! It is mean to play this trick on him, when he is so worried and excited. But then he is male-spirited, as my father says, and I know he would like to get hold of as good a trick himself.”

“Well, Steve, will you go?” Will asked impatiently.

“’Pon my word, I believe Steve has been afraid to get into a boat ever since we were out on the lake!” Jim exclaimed maliciously.

“Don’t stay on my account, bub,” sneered the man in the water-soaked garments. “I shall not be lonely without you.”

Stephen had been recovering his spirits ever since the boys arrived; and Jim’s taunt roused him to anger, while these last outrageous words stung him to the quick.

“Bub!” he repeated to himself. “That’s twice he called me bub! I can’t stand being called that; I never[142] knew a boy that could. Botheration! I’ve a great mind to go with them, after all! They will treat me well, and not bother me, nor call me—no, I won’t say that horrid word again. Well, surely, whatever was in the box, is burnt up now!”

Seeing that Stephen still hesitated, Mr. Sarjent took in the situation, bent a gorgon look on him, and again acted the huffer. “I made a blood-curdling threat a while ago,” he said; “I see I shall have to put it into execution, or else you will have to leave. Go, all of you!”

“My stars, Timor! I’ll show you whether I’m afraid to get into that boat, or to do anything else!” Steve cried, in desperation.

Then he caught up a stick and thrust it into the fire here and there, in spite of the peevish and browbeating stranger’s remonstrances. Of course he saw nothing of the box. Though not quite satisfied,—for it was impossible to get entirely over his uneasiness so quickly,—he stopped with a sharp—

“Boys, I’ll go!”

Jim, as recorded above, had no burning desire to go with the boys; but, for all that, he found himself in the boat, and the boat on its way from the island. Then he became alarmed, but seeing no help for it, determined to make the best of it. Two facts are well-established: first, he who accuses another of cowardice is commonly a downright coward himself; second, no right-minded boy can be called a coward without doing some foolhardy thing to prove the contrary.

Poor Steve! The artful boys had quietly had him sit with his face towards the island, and he stole uneasy glances towards it, as if still fearing an explosion. By degrees he became calmer; the fresh, sparkling water revived him; and at length he became even merry. Yet his gaiety was more assumed than real, though the others did not know it. They were delighted with the success of their plot, and thought that he would be as pleased as anybody when the shock of the explosion should be over.

“Let me row,” he said suddenly.

[143]

“No, no!” Charles said hastily. “We are going to give you a free ride, Steve; so, sit where you are, with your back against the gunwale, and watch the picnickers.”

Steve complied with this request, little knowing why it was made.

The boat glided along smoothly and swiftly, and presently a bend in the river hid the island from sight, and soon afterwards the merry-makers. Stephen still lolled comfortably in the same position. But as the distance between them and the island increased, he became restless again.

They were now approaching the falls, and would soon be opposite to George and his mine—the “arsenal,” as Charley called it.

Charley was afraid that Stephen might ask embarrassing questions about the fire-crackers, or their course, and he kept up so lively a flow of conversation that the poor boy could not edge in a word.

It was downright cruelty to humbug the boy in this deliberate and underhand way, and we do not wish to palliate their guilt. The reader, h............