Front Cover
 Title Page
 List of Illustrations
 Half Title
 A sham battle and a real hero
 A final surrender
 Phil Kelsey's fireworks
 Back Cover

Group Title: Gala day books ; 2
Title: A sham battle and a real hero
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00082761/00001
 Material Information
Title: A sham battle and a real hero A final surrender : Phil Kelsy's fireworks
Series Title: Gala day books
Alternate Title: Final surrender
Phil Kelsy's fireworks
Physical Description: 69 p. : ill. ; 17 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Currie, Frances Isabel
Hunt & Eaton
Cranston & Curts ( Publisher )
Publisher: Hunt & Eaton
Cranston & Curts
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: 1894
Subject: Youth -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Courage -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Parades -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Holidays -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1894   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1894
Genre: Children's stories
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
Statement of Responsibility: by Frances Isabel Currie.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00082761
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002225137
notis - ALG5409
oclc - 226307840

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page i
        Page i-a
        Page ii
    Title Page
        Page iii
        Page iv
    List of Illustrations
        Page v
        Page vi
    Half Title
        Page vii
        Page viii
    A sham battle and a real hero
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
    A final surrender
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
    Phil Kelsey's fireworks
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
    Back Cover
        Page 72
        Page 73
Full Text


The Ba ld%% L ibrar)

.h set his- teeth and hu g

:,. ,,^SS.& *:-.''

"The mare tried to shake him off, but he set his teeth and hung on.





Author of "A Tzff with the Tiffins"



Copyright by

Composition, electrotyping,
printing, and binding by
50o Fifth'Ave., New York.


"The mare tried to shake him off, but he set his teeth and
hung on."

"He did not think of his classmate lying stunned and bleed-
ing upon the ground."

His eyes were dark with excitement when he entered the
great house and told his story to Mr. Kelsey."



T HE boys in the Springfield Mili-
tary Acadeniy were fond of proces-
sions. Their teachers declared that they
would run a mile to see three men walk
behind a fife and a drum. All they
wanted to make them happy was a band
of music, a broad street to march through,
and a line of spectators to gaze upon
them. There had been no procession
in town for six months, and they deter-
mined to have one in honor of Washing-
ton's Birthday,
As Springfield is a Revolutionary
town it is all alive when the 22d of Feb-
ruary arrives. It hangs a flag from the
spire of the church, and rings the vil-

lage bells. The town folk talk of the
country's independence and of King
George as if they were a century behind
the times. Washington's Birthday was
always a gala day to them; but on the
occasion of which I write they decided
to have an unusual celebration, and the
boys in the Military Academy were to
have considerable to do with the affair.
They were to have a sham fight on the
Revolutionary battle ground, and to beat
-the English over again. Half of their
number were to dress as the American
soldiers dressed one hundred years ago,
and half were to wear such uniforms as
were worn by the Hessian yagers of that
In the year 1780 the American army
at Springfield was commanded by Gen-
eral Greene, and the British by a Hes-
sian named Baron Knyphausen. It was

decided that two boys on horseback
should impersonate those great officers.
Of course all the boys wished to be
American soldiers, and not one was will-
ing to don a red coat and call himself
a Hessian. It became necessary to call
the teachers in to settle this difficulty,
and they wrote the words American "
and "British" upon a great many slips of
paper, turned them face downward in a
box, and invited each boy to draw one.
Everyone who drew an "American"
ticket went into the Jersey regiment,
and everyone who drew a British"
ticket joined the Hessians. Then the
teachers decided that Barry Cartwright
and Herbert Fleming should act as
generals. Both boys could ride, and
they knew more of military maneuvers
than any other boys in the Academy.
They were each fourteen years old, and


it was astonishing how much informa-
tion they had obtained about artillery,
cavalry, infantry, gunnery, etc. They
seemed to know just how to attack an
enemy, how to rout him, and all about
it. Barry had drawn an "American"
ticket, and Herbert a British one;
therefore Barry was entitled to repre-
sent General Greene, and Herbert was
expected to impersonate the Baron
Unfortunately for the day's pleasure
Herbert declined to act as British gen-
eral, and declared that he wanted to
command the Americans. He said that
Barry had lived in Springfield for only
one year and was, therefore, not entitled
to the highest honor that the town af-
forded. Herbert said that he did not
care to stand up and be beaten even in
play. He swelled himself out, and strut-

ted and swaggered considerably over his
The Flemings were prominent people
in Springfield, and when Herbert's father
heard that his son wished to play the
part of General Greene he sent word
to the teachers of the Academy that
Herbert's wish must be granted, or he
would no longer patronize the school.
Barry Cartwright had been in an
ecstasy of delight when he realized that
he was to lead the American army on
to victory. He had fancied himself rid-
ing his father's horse into battle, and
had imagined that staid old animal
transformed into a gallant charger seeth-
ing with foam and prancing to martial
music. He had fancied himself, with
sword in hand, shouting his commands
in warriorlike fashion. He was a poor
boy. His father had lost an arm while


fighting for his country, and had to work
hard to support and educate his family.
Barry had been obliged to wear a suit
of clothes that had been awkwardly re-
modeled from his father's old uniform.
Herbert had ridiculed the cut of these
garments, and Barry had been stung by
the ridicule. I am afraid that he had
cherished a grudge against Herbert ever
since. When he discovered that he was
to be the hero of the sham battle he
took considerable satisfaction in think-
ing that Herbert would like to be in his
shoes on that occasion.
Poor Barry was not to realize his
triumph after all. The teachers in the
Military Academy did not dare offend
Mr. Fleming, and they decided that
Herbert should have the coveted gen-
eralship. Barry was told that he must
command the Hessians.

Nobody knew what his disappoint-
ment was. Nobody knew how he shut
himself in his room and fought a battle
with his ugly feelings toward his school-
fellow and with his own disappointment.
The boy's pride was wounded and he
felt that he had been defrauded. He
had taken his chances with the other
boys and had honestly drawn the ticket
that entitled him to the favorite general-
ship. Why should he be forced to give
it up? He would have refused to take
any part in the sham battle if it had not
been for his father. Barry did not want
him to share his disappointment. He said
nothing about the affair, and consented
to represent the Baron Knyphausen.
It was a bright spectacle-that little
parade that marched through Spring-
field on the 22d of February. The
women folk had taken an interest in the


affair and had made the boys' uniforms.
The band played, and, bless me! what
an impartial band it was. It played
"Yankee Doodle" and "God Save the
Queen with equal enthusiasm.
The two generals made a gallant ap-
pearance-Herbert upon a spirited black
mare, and Barry upon his father's sedate
old sorrel. The march was to Academy
Green, where the principal, Mr. Dinwid-
die, made a speech and astonished the
town with his eloquence. He told of
the battle that had been fought and won
in Springfield in the year 1780, and how
the stout hearts of the Jerseymen were
shaken when they discovered that they
had no more wadding for their guns.
There was an American minister in the
thickest of the battle, and he was named
James Caldwell. He was a great soldier
as well as a great preacher, and some-


times he was called the Rebel High
Priest." His wife had been shot by a
Hessian soldier, and the terrible news of
her death was brought to him while
the battle was in progress and at a
time when the want of wadding was
discovered. Mr. Di'nwiddie said that
the good man did not stop for a mo-
ment to vent his grief. He did his duty
first. A poem by Bret Harte tells e.a:w-
actly what he did:

"They were left in the lurch
For the want of more wadding. He ran to the
Broke the door, stripped the pews, and dashed out
in the road
With his arms full of hymn books, and threw down
his load
At their feet. Then above all the shouting and
Rang his voice: 'Put Watts into 'em. Boys, give
'em Watts !' "

And they did. Mr. Dinwiddie declared
that the British soldiers were driven out
of Springfield thoroughly demoralized
and astonished at their own defeat.
After the oration the band played
" Hail to the Chief," and the sham battle
Were I a soldier I would give all the
details of that bloodless war. I would
tell how the scouts came out to discover
exactly what the enemy was doing. I
would tell how both armies advanced
and retreated. I would tell how the old
cannon boomed away on the hill, and
how the rifles were loaded and unloaded
with harmless blank cartridges. I would
tell all about the real smoke, the real
racket, and the real enthusiasm that
accompanied this pretended battle, but
I am no soldier and, therefore, I could
never do the subject justice.

On the occasion of which I write both
generals were unhappy, and this illus-
trates the fact that greatness does not
always bring contentment. The Baron
Knyphausen found himself envying Gen-
eral Greene and thinking bitter thoughts
of him. Herbert's uniform was very
handsome, and he rode the spirited
black mare like a little warrior. Why,
he actually wore spurs, and when he
pricked the beautiful animal she cur-
veted and pranced in true martial
fashion. Poor Barry could not feel sat-
isfied with the patient old sorrel after that.
Herbert was secretly conscious that
he had treated Barry unfairly, and his
conscience made him uncomfortable.
He knew that he had been selfish, and
he was certain that Barry despised him.
This thought made him so wretched
that he gladly would have changed


places with the Hessian officer now.
But their uniforms were on and the
battle begun, so it was too late to
suggest an exchange.
The battle proceeded. The two ar-
mies had advanced simultaneously and
both officers had given the command to
" Fire!" when something occurred that
was not down on the program. The
black mare was struck by the wad of a
blank cartridge and ran away. She had
never heard the din of war before that
day, and she ran like a mad thing away
from the smoke and uproar. She took
the bridle bit between her teeth and
ran down the road at a pace that horri-
fied beholders. The boy and the animal
were enveloped in a cloud of dust, but
it could still be seen that he clung to
her back. The battle was forgotten.
Soldiers and spectators ran forward and

shouted, but the black mare only ran
the faster. Now she stumbled and
nearly fell ; now she regained her foot-
ing and tore away again; now her sad-
dle had slipped around and hung on her
side. The boy had lost the bridle rein
and was clinging to her mane. He was
crying out for help and momentarily
expecting to be dashed under her iron-
shod feet.
Barry Cartwright tried to save his
schoolfellow. For days he had been
harboring angry feelings against Her-
bert Fleming, but now they were for-
gotten. Almost as soon as the black
mare had taken flight Barry was urging
the old sorrel in pursuit. Barry knew
that he could never overtake the fleet
black mare, but that he must try to
head her off. He rode the sorrel across
the fields, urging him to jump fences


and ditches, and thus take a shorter
route than the mare was taking. The
old horse made a mighty effort and
traveled faster than it had gone for
years. Everyone shouted to Barry to
come back, that he would surely be
killed, but he heeded no warnings. His
father prayed for him and was proud of
When Barry reached the road it was
at a point in advance of the black mare.
Herbert was still clinging to her back,
and she came on frothing at the mouth
and in a frenzy of fear. Barry caught
her bridle as she tried to rush past him
and was dragged from the saddle. The
mare tried to shake him off, but he set
his teeth and hung on, the veins in his
forehead swelling almost to bursting, and
his head swimming until he could not
see. His feet did not touch the ground,

and his weight was so light that though
she slackened her speed she did not
cease running. She was furious at his
interference. She reared upon her hind
feet and tried to strike him with her fore
hoofs. She even tried to bite him in
her frenzy, but he held on with wonder-
ful courage and endurance. He realized
that she was gradually becoming sub-
dued ; that Herbert was safe Then he
Barry Cartwright was the hero of the
day after all. He was a somewhat dam-
aged hero, for his shoulder was dislo-
cated and his hands were terribly
bruised; but then a warrior must expect
some bodily injuries. The boys flocked
about him and praised him until he was
overwhelmed by his sudden increase of
popularity. The teachers spoke to him
and called him a hero, and that confused

him all the more. Then Mr. Fleming
himself thanked him so fervently that
Barry scarcely knew the proud man in
his sudden humility.
The battle was never finished. Baron
Knyphausen was too much used up to
fight, and there wasn't a soldier in Spring-
field Military Academy who would have
been willing to stand up against him
even in play.
Herbert went home with Barry and
stayed with him all the rest of the day.
Barry," he said, I have felt like a
thief, for I stole your generalship. You
had it fair and square till I got it away.
I've been awfully miserable about it. I
saw how mean I had been, and I knew
you must despise me. And you saved
my life! You will never want me near
you, and yet I'd be proud if you only
would let me be your friend."

Barry held out both his hands and
The war is over," he said, and we will
have no more hard feelings. I think we
shall like each other better after to-day's
And peace was declared.


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SHe did not think of his classmate lying stunned and bleeding upon the ground."


N Oone could have sailed down Hamp-
ton Roads on the twenty-ninth day
of May, 1893, without being impressed
by the beauty of the day. The sun
shone upon water and shore. The sun
shone upon Fortress Monroe. It shot
bright rays across the massive walls, the
level -parade grounds, the grassy ram-
parts. Nothing about this beautiful for-
tress suggested discord or hostilities. Its
cannon were mute, and it was as if it had
never been disturbed by war. And yet on
this twenty-ninth day of May it was the
scene of a bitter war of words.
The contestants were boys whose ages
ranged from twelve to sixteen years.


Many of them were Virginians, but a
number of them came from the North.
They were all students of the Phoebus
Military Academy.
The dispute would never have arisen if
the fortress had not been there. It was a
favorite resort of everyone in the vicinity.
Pedestrians in that section of country
turned to the fort as surely as the pro-
verbial needle turns to the pole. But on
the day specified the Northerners and
Souitherners went to the fortress and
quarreled. They called each other rebels
as glibly and hotly as if the great civil
war had not been ended more than twenty
years before.
The quarrel began at the door of Mr.
Jefferson Davis's prison. A Boston boy,
named Howard Grant, spoke in uncom-
plimentary terms of the Confederate ex-
president. The Southerners were up in


arms in an instant, and before anyone.
had fairly realized what was going on the
quarrel had become personal, and a great
many offensive things were being said.
It was very unfortunate that they
should quarrel at all, but it was an awk-
ward circumstance that they should do
so on that particular day. They had
expected to celebrate Decoration Day
together before they separated for their
summer vacation. A procession was to
be one of the features of the celebration,
and the academy boys were invited to
participate in it. They had all been
very enthusiastic about it. They had
been drilled in marching and counter-
marching until they were certain they
should make a fine appearance in the
parade. But now the Northern and
Southern pupils absolutely declined to
march in company with each other.


This division was unfortunate. If only
one half of the school turned out people
would get the impression that it had
run down, had few scholars, and was not
the flourishing academy that it had pre-
viously been.
There were two societies in the school.
The Southerners called themselves The
Magruders." The leader was Lee Morris.
He was given precedence because he was
named Lee, after the Confederate gen-
eral. The Northerners were called "The
Rip-Raps," and they made Howard Grant
their leader. These two lads, who should
have been like brothers, imagined now
they were assuming the r6les of those
great commanders who fought and suf-
fered, and finally sheathed their swords at
Appomattox. What could those foolish
children know of the pathos, dignity, and
magnanimity of that great surrender,


when Lee yielded the palm of victory at
last to his magnanimous foe ?
Lee Morris and Howard Grant had
once been excellent friends. Howard
was not a robust lad, and had been sent
to Fortress Monroe from Boston because
the New England winters were too severe
for him. He had been very ill at first,
and I am sorry to say that some of the
boys in the military academy had spoken
rather contemptuously of him because he
was weaker than they. Lee Morris was
not one of them. When young Grant
lay tossing upon his sick bed, wasted
with lung fever and raving with delirium,
Lee had constituted himself head nurse,
and never left the sick room. He had
been as tender as a woman, had
smoothed the sick boy's pillow, moist-
ened his parched lips, administered his
medicines, and had done a thousand use-


ful and kindly services. He had never
once thought of his own fatigue, nor re-
laxed his attentions to the patient.
Day and night he had been a faithful
sentinel, until the doctor had said all
danger was past and Howard Grant
would live. Then Lee's lips had been
tremulous, and his eyes blurred with
thankful tears.
Howard Grant was manly and gener-
ous, and to such a nature as his it was
not easy to forget his comrade's kind-
ness, even though the accident of their
names and birthplaces had made them
leaders of opposing factions. But neither
the patriotic Rip-Raps" nor the unre-
constructed Magruders would tolerate
any softening or relenting on the part of
their commanders. They required them
to be as stern and inflexible as old RQ.,


As the Northern and Southern boys
would not walk together in the proces-
sion, it was a nice point to settle which
should be lucky enough to get in. They
could not have a real battle to decide the
matter. It must be settled by arbitra-
tion. There was a committee of arrange-
ments for the parade, and it was mutually
agreed that the two leaders should lay
the matter before these persons. Each
leader was required to argue the case of
his party. Lee said that the Virginia
boys certainly should be given the place
in line because they were natives of that
community, and their fathers owned the
soil. But the Northerners contended
that Decoration Day was a national
holiday, that the Southerners would have
belonged to a separate government if
they had had their way, that their buried
soldiers had fought against the Union,


and that therefore no special considera-
tion should be shown them. And when
they had argued and wrangled until they
were tired they took the matter to the
The committee heard both sides with
judicial impartiality; but one man told
the boys that he reckoned the State
was big enough for the whole school,"
and that they could all turn out without
being crowded. He said he couldn't
see why they could not quit quarreling
and walk together. In his opinion they
were very much behind the times, since
their fathers had clasped hands in re-
newed and lasting fellowship twenty odd
years before.
Each division in the line should be
assigned a place and given a permit for
that place. The committee said that
the permit should be given to the boy


who came there earliest for it on the
morrow. They would carry out the
old rule of first come, first served."
Meanwhile, Lee Morris and Howard
Grant were advised to forget their quar-
rel, and to have the whole school in the
Of course the committee of arrange-
ments did not know it, but the question
of who should be in the procession and
who excluded must be settled by a foot
race. No one would be allowed outside
the academy grounds before nine o'clock
in the morning. Then a bell would be
rung, the gates thrown open, and the
scholars would be free for the day. At
the very instant that bell rang young
Grant and Lee would dart out of doors,
across the fields, over sandy roadways,
over fences and ditches to the head-
quarters of the committee. And the


" Rip-Raps" realized that it was likely
to be an uneven race, since Howard
Grant, with his delicate frame and weak
lungs, would almost certainly be left be-
hind. Still both boys meant to try hard
to win the race.
The bell rang, and they were off. No
fleet-footed Mercury could have been
swifter than these two lads striving for
the permit. For a little while Howard
Grant led, then his breath grew short,
and Lee Morris shot ahead of him. All
the "Magruders" yelled with triumph.
And then-how it happened he never ex-
actly knew-Lee's feet were entangled in
a mass of blackberry vines; he fell, strik-
ing his head against a stone. There he
lay, very still, his head bleeding, his face
white as the gulls that circle over Hamp-
ton Roads.
Howard Grant did not stop. For a


moment he thought of nothing but the
advantage he had gained. He did not
think of his classmate lying stunned and
bleeding upon the ground. He ran
faster and faster, while the Rip-Raps "
shouted and urged him on. Five min-
utes later he had the permit in his hands.
He came back in time to see Lee
Morris lifted from the ground and car-
ried into the schoolroom. The sight
shocked and sobered him, and killed all
the triumph he had felt a moment be-
fore. He remembered what Lee had
done for him when he was ill, and now
he could not go near him, could not
try to aid him while he held that wretched
permit in his hand. His heart smote
him. He was fast forgetting that quar-
rel under the ramparts. The Decoration
Day procession had lost all charms for
him. He could think of nothing but his

noble-minded schoolfellow who was in-
jured; and he was ashamed to go to his
"You couldn't help what happened,"
one of the Rip-Raps said. They had
all grown serious when Lee was picked
up and carried away. You won the
permit honestly."
I could not have won it if he had not
fallen," Howard replied. I don't like
this way of winning, and if you will agree
to it I should like to give the permit to
the Magruders.' Suppose we were in
their shoes, should we like to have
strangers take the lead while we looked
on ? We are going to leave this place
day after to-morrow. Would it not be
better to make them feel more kindly
toward us before we go ? They don't
feel gracious toward us now, but would
we feel so toward them if they had

beaten us ? If you will agree to it I will
give Lee Morris the permit. Perhaps it
will help him to get better."
At first some demurred. It is difficult
to detach a boy from a. procession. And
then it was decidedly at variance with
their knowledge of history for a Grant
to surrender to a Lee. But Howard
pleaded well, and the pathetic, white face
in the schoolroom was another power-
ful argument.
Lee Morris was not greatly injured
after all, and was on his feet when How-
ard offered him the permit.
"We don't like the way we won it,"
Howard Grant said, and we are willing
to give it up. We are only visitors here,
and we think you have a better right in
the parade than we have."
Lee's face was flushed, and he took
the hand that offered the coveted permit.


Boys," he said to the Magruders,"
"we know how we ought to treat our
guests. Let us bury the hatchet, thank
the Rip-Raps' for their generosity, and
then make them walk in the procession
with us. We are ashamed of the quar-
rel, and we want to be friends."
And so it actually came to pass, after
all, that every boy from the Phoebus Mil-
itary Academy was in that procession.
Even Lee with his wounded head was
equal to the occasion, and he walked with
young Grant. Everybody said the boys
marched like experienced soldiers. And
the good fellowship between the Ma-
gruders and the Rip-Raps seemed
warmer and stronger after that quarrel
and final surrender.

The great procession came up the street,
With clatter of hoofs and tramp of feet;
There was General Jones to guide the van;


And Corporal Jinks, his right-hand man;
And each was riding his high horse,
And each had epaulets, of course ;
And each had a sash of the bloodiest red,
And each had a shako on his head;
And each had a sword by his left side,
And each had his mustache newly dyed;
And that was the way
We kept tlie day,
The great, the grand, the glorious day !



-1 Jm


s- I ii~-'r

"His eyes were dark with excitement when he entered the great house and
told his story to Mr. Kelsey,"


T HE people of Cottonville were in
a state of profound disturbance.
Men wore sullen faces and held long dis-
cussions on the street corners and in the
grocery store. Women went from house
to house and gossiped as they never did
before. Children sat on the river bank
and held grave confabs that lasted for
hours. Everyone looked serious and
There had been a general strike among
the hands at the Kelsey Cotton Mills,
and, as the proprietor had not yielded to
the demand made for higher wages, every-
body was out of work. No wages at all
came into the homes of Cottonville, and


the gaunt wolf, Poverty, was looking in at
the windows. The strike had lasted for
weeks and the mill hands were growing
restless. They began to wonder where
their bread was coming from, and they
could not put the thought of imminent
want out of their minds. Almost every-
one who Was old enough to work had
been employed in the great cotton man-
ufactory. Now engine-tenders, scutchers,
piecers, spinners, reelers, warpers, and
doublers were idlers together. They
had expected Mr. Kelsey to surrender at
once, and yet time dragged on and he
showed no symptoms of yielding.
Now it was rumored that he was look-
ing for new workmen, with an excellent
prospect of finding them.
There had been a great many speeches
made in the town of Cottonville about
the beauty of independence. Luke Slater


had mounted an old loom in front of one
of the warehouses, and declared that it
was the duty of every workman to put
his heel down very hard upon the cap-
"The Fourth of July is near at hand,"
he said; the day of our national inde-
pendence is near. Let us be independ-
ent by sticking to our motto, big wage
or no work.' Men, let us stand like rock
and shout: 'Down with cheap labor, or
down with capitalists.'"
The orator and his hearers were not
more concerned about the issues of the
strike than was a party of boys who had
met on the river bank to discuss the
Fourth of July. It had been discovered
that not one of them had a penny in the
world. The few coppers that they had
possessed had been gathered in by their
.parents to keep hunger from their doors.


The boys were absolutely bankrupt, with
no prospect of better circumstances and
no fireworks for the annual celebration.
Think of a Fourth of July without one
skyrocket on its horizon! Think of an
Independence Day without the noise of
gunpowder The boys were appalled at
the prospect. Cottonville would appear
like a place in some foreign kingdom.
Uncle Sam would seem to be forgotten,
and for once the American eagle would
fail to flap and screech in honor of the
Poor little men They sat in a dismal
row, and wished that the strike had been
postponed until after the Fourth had been
appropriately celebrated. It is difficult
to feel independent with empty pockets.
Philip Kelsey was the only boy in the
town who was able to buy fireworks. He
was the son of the much-condemned cap-


italist. He indulged his fancy by pur-
chasing a pyrotechnical supply that in-
cluded everything from pin wheels to
rockets. He had fire ballons, Roman
candles, and fiery serpents galore.
Besides, he had a nervous mother, who
could not bear to have these inflammable
articles in the house. On the third of
July, when he brought them home, she
insisted that he should take them away,
out of doors, somewhere where they
would not endanger life and property.
He went out of doors with his arms
full of them. If he left them upon the
ground the dew at nightfall would ruin
them. He had no boy friends to take
into his confidence and to help him out
of his dilemma. Since the strike began
the boys had avoided him. While their
elders waged war against the capitalist
they were at enmity with his son. They


had an undefined feeling that Philip was
a young aristocrat, who was growing fat
upon the good things that ought to be
divided among them. Philip had re-
sented this criticism. He had come to
regard the workmen's sons as so many
young anarchists, who were conspiring
against men industrious enough to save
There was at least one boy in the vil-
lage whose friendship Philip had valued.
That was Grant Murray. He and Philip
had been much together, although their
positions in life had been very different.
Grant's father was a steam engine
tender." He had worked in the mill for
twenty years, and had been the last man
to join the strikers. Mr.. Kelsey had
spoken to him when he was going.
So you are against me, too, Ethan,"
he had said,

And Ethan had answered a little
"' Aye, sir. I like a good wage as well
as my fellows."
It was this man's son whose compan-
ionship Philip Kelsey missed. Before
the strike the boys had been almost in-
separable, and as Grant had a good head
and good principles the Kelsey family
had encouraged the friendship. But
Grant's sympathies were with the strik-
ers, and the two boys ceased to be friends
when the cotton mills closed.
Philip regretted this greatly on the
morning when he went to seek a hiding
place for his fireworks. Grant knew
every nook and cranny in Cottonville.
He could have hidden them in a minute,
and he would have stood guard over
them all night before he would have al-
lowed any harm to come to them. Philip


would have given the world to know that
Grant would be with him on the morrow.
There would be very little pleasure, he
thought, in blazing into enthusiasm over
the nation's independence while no one
saw him do it. The very word "union,"
the national password, was at variance
with such a celebration. Still, Philip
could not ask any of the boys to join him
while they considered his father a tyrant
and blamed him for their own lack of
Philip did a very foolish thing; he
stored his fireworks in the cotton mill.
The doors were locked and there were
iron bars over every one of the lower
windows. Without a key no one could
enter the building. He dropped his fire-
works softly upon the floor.
"If I leave the window open a little
way no damage will be done," he thought.


" There won't be heat enough to set any-
thing afire, and no one will be in the
factory and find them there.
Nevertheless, he was a little bit uncom-
fortable about the situation. He had a
conviction that his father would disap-
prove of his action. However, he put
this thought away from him and started
homeward. On his way he passed Grant
Murray, who had been loitering about
the mill, and who had witnessed what he
had done.
Usually Grant was a very good boy,
but on this occasion he was in an ex-
tremely ugly humor. The spirit of envy
had taken possession of him. He told
himself that it was all wrong that Philip
Kelsey should have such a wealth of fire-
works while all the other boys in Cotton-
ville had not so much as a single pack of

You can't be right in your head," he
said, with withering insolence, or you'd
know enough to keep gunpowder and
cotton away from each other. Maybe
you don't care, though, if the mill does
burn down. A mill without workmen
ain't of any use."
Nobody asked your opinion," Philip
answered, loftily. I have heard of peo-
ple getting on right well by minding
their own business. Perhaps you had
better try it."
And after this exchange of incivilities
these two former friends parted company,
feeling more unhappy than before.
All day Grant harbored a discontented
and envious spirit. He kept thinking
resentfully of the morrow. He went
over to the grocery store, where several
of the strikers were lounging, and where
Luke Slater was lamenting because no


one in Cottonville except the Kelseys
would be able to celebrate the Fourth.
If we had fireworks we'd know better
than to store them in the cotton mill,"
Grant Murray said, warmly. That's
where Phil Kelsey has put his. I saw
him dropping them in one of the north
As soon as he had spoken he regretted
having done so. A certain look of cun-
ning and malice crept into Luke's face,
and it made the boy shrink from him.
When Grant was going away Luke called
him back and questioned him.
Are the fireworks directly under the
window ?"
"That's a good bit of news. Phil
Kelsey is crowing to-day to think he is
the only boy in town who has any fire-
works, but he won't crow long."


"What do you mean ?"
The man had evidently a covert mean-
ing which he would not explain. He had
been drinking liquor or he would have
been more careful than he was of ex-
pressing himself. He chuckled and
looked so foxlike that the boy was dis-
gusted and went away.
Some of the strikers were losing con-
fidence in their leader. One man went
so far as to say that he thought that
Luke had been a bad adviser. To tell
the truth the strikers were growing
tired of being fed upon oratory. There
was a rumor afloat about Cottonville
that Luke had been discharged from the
mills for bad behavior, and that he had
not left because of his alleged dissatis-
faction with his pay. One or two of the
men were bold enough to say that the
proprietor of the Kelsey mills had not


been a bad man to his employees, and
that he had always been ready to listen
to their grievances.
Luke Slater's words and his ugly ex-
pression haunted Grant all day. What
had the man meant ? Did he intend to
pour a bucket of water over the coveted
fireworks so that they would be useless ?
Well, if he did it was no affair of Grant
Murray's. Philip had advised him to try
minding his own business, and he would
take the advice.
Still, as the day drew near its close
Grant grew more and more restless. He
reflected that Philip could not help being
born rich any more than he could help
being poor. He remembered that Philip
had always been generous to his play-
mates, and eager to share his pleasures
with them. Once or twice Grant was
tempted to go and tell him that his ar-


senal was threatened with destruction,
but his pride held him back. Grant's
heart was heavy, for he believed he was
doing wrong. He knew that his own in-
solent words had provoked Philip into
saying what he did, and still he was un-
willing to do his playfellow a service.
Ethan Murray was an upright man
who gathered his family about him after
supper for prayers. But first he read a
chapter in the Bible. Since the strike
began he had read aloud several of the
psalms in which David triumphs over the
downfall of his enemies. The tenth psalm
had been a special favorite. When he
read, The wicked in his pride doth per-
secute the poor," he thought of Mr. Kel-
sey. But on the third of July Ethan
read Christ's wonderful sermon on the
mount, which no divine has ever equaled,
and which every child can understand.

Grant listened while his heart beat tu-
Love your enemies, bless them that
curse you, and pray for them which de-
spitefully use you." The words rang in
the boy's ears and appealed to his con-
science. He had considered Philip Kel-
sey his enemy, and -now he determined
to do good to him.
Perhaps it appears like a trivial way
of doing good for a boy to save his en-
emy's fireworks, but it certainly was
practical Christianity. Grant slipped
out of the house as soon as the chapter
was read and started for the Kelsey man-
sion. No fleet-footed Mercury could
have traveled faster than did this bare-
footed boy. He would not give his res-
olution time to waver.
He had to pass the mills on his way
to the house, and as he approached them


he saw something that set his heart to
beating wildly. A man was skulking
about the north side of one of the build-
ings and furtively trying the windows.
The boy realized that Luke Slater was
there before him, and he fled like a mad
thing toward the Kelsey mansion. A new
fear had taken possession of him; per-
haps Luke meant to burn the mill.
Grant Murray was hatless and coatless,
his curly hair had been tossed by the sum-
mer wind, and his eyes were dark with
excitement when he entered the great
house and told his story to Mr. Kelsey.
Ordinarily he would have been too shy
to speak to the great manufacturer, but
to-night he had no thought except his
desire to save the mill.
He was out of doors again in a min-
ute followed by Mr. Kelsey and Philip.
Grant's agile legs carried him faster than


they could follow. As he ran he blamed
himself bitterly for his long silence. 0,
why had he been so obstinate? Why
had he not warned Philip before? If the
mills burned he would blame himself as
long as he lived.
They were too late. A loud report of
gunpowder smote the air, and a flash of
light burst from one of the north win-
dows. Roman candles shot in all direc-
tions, and rockets and fire bombs ex-
ploded on the floor. Then a human voice
was heard-the voice of Luke Slater. He
had thrown a bale of burning cotton upon
the fireworks, intending to fire the mill,
and his punishment had come with ap-
palling swiftness. The flash of powder
had forever destroyed his sight!
But the mill was burning! Mr. Kelsey
unlocked his office, and rushed in to try
to save his books and papers. He had


no hope of doing more. There were no
fire engines at Cottonville. The mill was
provided with numerous buckets, hose-
pipes, and fire extinguishers, but these
would be useless so long as the work-
men were angry and unwilling to employ
The cotton was blazing in all direc-
tions. It was dangerous beyond measure
to enter the building, but Grant Murray
darted up the mill stairs in spite of Mr.
Kelsey's commands for him to return, and
in spite of Philip's strongest protests.
Grant believed the men would try to save
the mill if they could be summoned to
the spot. He wanted to get at the rope
of the great factory bell and to ring it as
it had never been rung before.
The strikers were holding a meeting
in the town hall when they heard the fac-
tory bell. Instantly a rush was made for

the windows, and a cry of "Fire!" rang
sharply through the house.
Let the mill burn !" said the malcon-
But Ethan Murray was on the platform
and was speaking in public for the first
time in his life.
Men," he said, the mill has given us
and our families bread and shelter for
many years. We owe it something. Let
us save it. We are honest men; don't
let the capitalists say we are incendi-
And they did save it. Bucket after
bucket of water fell upon the blazing
cotton. Men plied their axes upon burn-
ing looms and casements, and every hose
in the factory was put into active service.
It was late at night when the last spark
of this famous bonfire was extinguished.
The men and boys who had labored so


hard wiped the soot and perspiration
from their faces and gave three rousing
cheers, for the mill had been saved and
the strike was over!

The boys of Cottonville had their fire-
works on the Fourth after all. When Mr.
Kelsey learned of the envy that had kept
Grant Murray morose and silent for so
long he resolved that every boy in town
should have all the fireworks that heart
could wish. He sent for such a supply as
Cottonville had never seen before; and
at nightfall had old and young assem-
ble on the village common to witness the
spectacle. All the strikers were there ex-
cepting Luke Slater, who would never see
again. Mr. Kelsey had met the men and
thanked them for their work in saving
the mill, and they had come to a satis-
factory agreement concerning their wages.


The boys were wild with enthusiasm
over the fireworks. They were more en-
thusiastic still when Mr. Kelsey made a
little speech and told of Grant Murray's
bravery, and how he had risked his life
to ring the bell and save the mill.
Grant and Philip had shaken hands
some hours before. They were better
friends than ever now for the experience
they had endured.
And after the fireworks and cheers and
speeches the American eagle seemed
glad to fold its wings and go to sleep.


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