The company dispersed:  ladies who had expected carriages did not wait for them, but struggled to the extreme verge of politeness for the use of such umbrellas and waterproof-cloaks as Mrs. Burton could supply.  Fifteen minutes later the only occupant of the parlor was the dog Jerry, who lay, with alert head, in the centre of a large “Turkish chair.  Mrs. Burton, tenderly supported by her husband, descended the stair, and contemplated with tightly compressed lips and blazing eyes the disorder of her desolated parlor.  When, however, she reached the dining-room and beheld the exquisitely-set lunch-table, to the arrangement of which she had devoted hours of thought in preceding days and weeks, she burst into a flood of tears.

“I’ll tell you how it was,” remarked Budge, who appeared suddenly and without invitation, and whose consciousness of good intention made him as adamant before the indignant frowns of his uncle and aunt, “I always think bonfires is the nicest things about celebrations, an’ Tod an’ me have been carryin’ sticks for two days to make a big bonfire in the back yard to-day.  But then it rained, an’ rainy sticks won’t burn—­I guess we found that out last Thanksgivin’ Day.  So we thought we’d make one in the cellar, ‘cause the top is all tin, an’ the bottom’s all dirt, an’ it can’t rain in there at all.  An’ we got lots of newspapers and kindlin’-wood, an’ put some kerosene on it, an’ it blazed up beautiful, an’ we was just comin’ up to ask you all down to look at it, when in came Uncle Harry, an’ banged me against the wall an’ Tod into the coal-heap, an’ threw a mean old dirty carpet on top of it, an’ wet’ed it all over.”

“Little boysh never can do anyfing nysh wivout bein’ made to don’t,” said Toddie.  “Dzust see what an awful big splinter I got in my hand when I was froin’ wood on the fire!  I didn’t cry a bit about it then, ‘cause I fought I was makin’ uvver folks happy, like the Lord wants little boysh to.  But they didn’t get happy, so now I am goin’ to cry ’bout the splinter!”

And Toddie raised a howl which was as much superior to his usual cry as things made to order generally are over the ordinary supply.

“We had a torchlight procession, too,” said Budge.  “We had to have it in the attic, but it wasn’t very nice.  There wasn’t any trees up there for the light to dance around on, like it does on ’lection-day nights.  So we just stopped, an’ would have felt real doleful if we hadn’t thought of the bonfire.”

“Where did you leave the torches?” asked Mr. Burton, springing from his chair, and lifting his wife to her feet at the same time.

“I—­I dunno,” said Budge, after a moment of thought.

“Froed ’em in a closet where the rags is, so’s not to dyty the nice floor wif ’em,” said Toddie.

Mr. Burton hurried up-stairs and extinguished a smoldering heap of rags, while his wife, truer to herself than she imagined she was, drew Budge to her, and said, kindly: