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name I withhold） instantly regretted his badness； and after school
confessed the whole thing to Mr。 Grimshaw； who heaped coals of fire
upon the nameless boy's head giving him five cents for the Fourth of July。
If Mr。 Grimshaw had caned this unknown youth； the punishment would
not have been half so severe。
On the last day of June the Captain received a letter from my father；
enclosing five dollars 〃for my son Tom；〃 which enabled that young
gentleman to make regal preparations for the celebration of our national
independence。 A portion of this money； two dollars； I hastened to invest in
fireworks； the balance I put by for contingencies。 In placing the fund in
my possession； the Captain imposed one condition that dampened my
ardor considerably…I was to buy no gunpowder。 I might have all the
snapping…crackers and torpedoes I wanted； but gunpowder was out of the
question。
I thought this rather hard； for all my young friends were provided with
pistols of various sizes。 Pepper Whitcomb had a horse…pistol nearly as
large as himself； and Jack Harris； though he； to be sure； was a big boy； was
going to have a real oldfashioned flintlock musket。 However； I didn't mean
to let this drawback destroy my happiness。 I had one charge of powder
stowed away in the little brass pistol which I brought from New Orleans；
and was bound to make a noise in the world once； if I never did again。
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It was a custom observed from time immemorial for the towns…boys to
have a bonfire on the Square on the midnight before the Fourth。 I didn't
ask the Captain's leave to attend this ceremony； for I had a general idea
that he wouldn't give it。 If the Captain； I reasoned； doesn't forbid me； I
break no orders by going。 Now this was a specious line of argument； and
the mishaps that befell me in consequence of adopting it were richly
deserved。
On the evening of the 3d I retired to bed very early； in order to disarm
suspicion。 I didn't sleep a wink； waiting for eleven o'clock to come round；
and I thought it never would come round； as I lay counting from time to
time the slow strokes of the ponderous bell in the steeple of the Old North
Church。 At length the laggard hour arrived。 While the clock was striking I
jumped out of bed and began dressing。
My grandfather and Miss Abigail were heavy sleepers； and I might
have stolen downstairs and out at the front door undetected； but such a
commonplace proceeding did not suit my adventurous disposition。 I
fastened one end of a rope （it was a few yards cut from Kitty Collins's
clothes…line） to the bedpost nearest the window； and cautiously climbed
out on the wide pediment over the hall door。 I had neglected to knot the
rope； the result was； that； the moment I swung clear of the pediment； I
descended like a flash of lightning； and warmed both my hands smartly。
The rope； moreover； was four or five feet too short； so I got a fall that
would have proved serious had I not tumbled into the middle of one of the
big rose…bushes growing on either side of the steps。
I scrambled out of that without delay； and was congratulating myself
on my good luck； when I saw by the light of the setting moon the form of
a man leaning over the garden gate。 It was one of the town watch； who had
probably been observing my operations with curiosity。 Seeing no chance
of escape； I put a bold face on the matter and walked directly up to him。
'What on airth air you a doin'？〃 asked the man； grasping the collar of
my jacket。
〃I live here； sir； if you please；〃 I replied； 〃and am going to the bonfire。
I didn't want to wake up the old folks； that's all。〃
The man cocked his eye at me in the most amiable manner； and
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The Story of a Bad Boy
released his hold。
〃Boys is boys；〃 he muttered。 He didn't attempt to stop me as I slipped
through the gate。
Once beyond his clutches； I took to my heels and soon reached the
Square； where I found forty or fifty fellows assembled； engaged in
building a pyramid of tar…barrels。 The palms of my hands still tingled so
that I couldn't join in the sport。 I stood in the doorway of the Nautilus
Bank； watching the workers； among whom I recognized lots of my
schoolmates。 They looked like a legion of imps； coming and going in the
twilight； busy in raising some infernal edifice。 What a Babel of voices it
was； everybody directing everybody else； and everybody doing everything
wrong！
When all was prepared； someone applied a match to the sombre pile。 A
fiery tongue thrust itself out here and there； then suddenly the whole fabric
burst into flames； blazing and crackling beautifully。 This was a signal for
the boys to join hands and dance around the burning barrels； which they
did shouting like mad creatures。 When the fire had burnt down a little；
fresh staves were brought and heaped on the pyre。 In the excitement of the
moment I forgot my tingling palms； and found myself in the thick of the
carousal。
Before we were half ready； our combustible material was expended；
and a disheartening kind of darkness settled down upon us。 The boys
collected together here and there in knots； consulting as to what should be
done。 It yet lacked four or five hours of daybreak； and none of us were in
the humor to return to bed。 I approached one of the groups standing near
the town pump； and discovered in the uncertain light of the dying brands
the figures of Jack Harris； Phil Adams； Harry Blake； and Pepper
Whitcomb； their faces streaked with perspiration and tar； and； their whole
appearance suggestive of New Zealand chiefs。
〃Hullo！ Here's Tom Bailey！〃 shouted Pepper Whitcomb。 〃He'll join
in！〃
Of course he would。 The sting had gone out of my hands； and I was
ripe for anything…none the less ripe for not knowing what was on the tapis。
After whispering together for a moment the boys motioned me to follow
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The Story of a Bad Boy
them。
We glided out from the crowd and silently wended our way through a
neighboring alley； at the head of which stood a tumble…down old barn；
owned by one Ezra Wingate。 In former days this was the stable of the
mail…coach that ran between Rivermouth and Boston。 When the railroad
superseded that primitive mode of travel； the lumbering vehicle was rolled
in the barn； and there it stayed。 The stage…driver； after prophesying the
immediate downfall of the nation； died of grief and apoplexy； and the old
coach followed in his wake as fast as could by quietly dropping to pieces。
The barn had the reputation of being haunted； and I think we all kept very
close together when we found ourselves standing in the black shadow cast
by the tall gable。 Here； in a low voice； Jack Harris laid bare his plan；
which was to burn the ancient stage…coach。
〃The old trundle…cart isn't worth twenty…five cents；〃 said Jack Harris；
〃and Ezra Wingate ought to thank us for getting the rubbish out of the way。
But if any fellow here doesn't want to have a hand in it； let him cut and run；
and keep a quiet tongue in his head ever after。〃
With this he pulled out the staples that held the lock； and the big barn
door swung slowly open。 The interior of the stable was pitch…dark； of
course。 As we made a movement to enter； a sudden scrambling； and the
sound of heavy bodies leaping in all directions； caused us to start back in
terror。
〃Rats！〃 cried Phil Adams。
〃Bats！〃 exclaimed Harry Blake。
'Cats！〃 suggested Jack Harris。 〃Who's afraid？〃
Well； the truth is； we were all afraid； and if the pole of the stage had
not been lying close to the threshold； I don't believe anything on earth
would have induced us to cross it。 We seized hold of the pole…straps and
succeed