The wooden cannon Russ made didn’t work very well.  The first fire-cracker that was shot off in it burst the wooden affair all to pieces.

“But I don’t care,” said Russ with a jolly whistle.  “It made one awfully good noise, anyhow.”

“To-night we’ll go down to the Square and see the big fireworks,” said Daddy Bunker, for the town of Pineville was old-fashioned enough to have a Fourth-of-July celebration.

“And you said we could have ice cream and cake this afternoon,” said Rose to her mother.

“Yes, I did,” agreed Mrs. Bunker.  “Norah is freezing the cream now, and she made the cake yesterday.”

“Oh, goody!” cried Laddie, clapping his hands.  “Ice cream and cake.  Is it chocolate cake, Mother?” he asked.

“I don’t know—­you’ll have to ask Norah,” was the answer.

“Come on, let’s!” said Rose, and they ran around to the kitchen door, looking in where the good-natured cook was busy with pots and pans.

“Chocolate cake is it?  Sure it’s both kinds,” Norah answered with a laugh.  “It’s regular thunder-and-lightning cake—­you wait an’ see!”

“Thunder-and-lightning cake!  Oh, what kind is that?” asked Rose.

“Maybe it’s a riddle,” suggested Laddie.

“Oh, you’re always thinking about riddles!” exclaimed Russ.  “Come on, let’s go out to the barn and have some fun in the hay,” for Mr. Bunker kept a horse for driving customers about to look at real estate.

“What kind of fun can we have?” asked Vi.

“Come on, and you’ll see,” returned Russ.

By this time most of their fireworks had been shot off, though Daddy Bunker had insisted that they save a few for afternoon.  And, making sure that the children did not have smoldering pieces of punk, which might set the barn on fire, Mrs. Bunker watched the six little tots run out there to have fun.

“Have you heard anything about the papers the tramp carried away in your old coat?” she asked her husband, who did not go to the office that day.

“No, the police couldn’t find the man,” answered Mr. Bunker.  “I guess my papers are gone for good.  But I mustn’t worry about them; nor must you.  I want you and the children to have a good time at Grandma Bell’s.”

“Oh, we always have good times there,” said his wife.  “I’ll be glad to go.  It is lovely in Maine at this time of year.”

Out in the barn the children could be heard laughing and shouting.

“I hope they don’t try to make any more steamboats out of old barrels, and get caught in the ruins,” said Mrs. Bunker with a laugh, as she thought of the funny accident that had happened in the playroom.

“Oh, I guess they’ll be all right,” said Mr. Bunker.  “It’s quiet now, so I’ll lie down and have a nap, to get ready to take them to the fireworks to-night.”

The six little Bunkers had played some games in the barn—­sliding down the hay, pretending an old wagon was a stage coach and that the Indians captured it—­games like that—­when they heard Norah calling loudly to them.