Copyright, 1895, by Harper & Brothers. All Rights Reserved.

A MISPLACED "FOURTH."

BY JAMES BARNES.

The male population of Middleton, Ohio, in the early summer of 186- appeared to consist altogether of old men and boys. True, a few young men, most of them dressed in blue coats with brass buttons, were to be seen on the streets, but nearly all of them carried their arms in slings, and one tall lad of twenty, who had once been the best runner in the village, hobbled along on crutches, with an empty trouser leg pinned up at the knee.

One bright morning three Middleton boys were sitting astride the top rail of a zigzag fence that ran along a hillside at the edge of a thicket of underbrush. A long Kentucky rifle lay across a near-by log. One of the boys held in his hand a glass bottle slopped with a bit of rag. Another had on a leather belt with "U.S." on the brass plate—upside down. The third boy was digging at the rail with a dull jackknife.

"I came near to running away and goin' as a drummer-boy," said the youngster with the belt, "but they wouldn't take me on account of my age. I'll be old enough this fall," he added. "Then you'll see."

"Your mother wouldn't let you go, Skinny," said the boy with the bottle. "She told Grandad that two was enough."

"Father'd let me go if he warn't with Sherman," said Skinny, "and brother Bill said I drummed good enough."

"My father wants me to stay home and look after ma," the second boy sighed. There had been no news of his father for six months, now.

"I've got a letter from Alfred, written jes before he was taken prisoner, I guess," said the third boy, closing his knife. He drew out of his pocket an envelope with the picture of an American flag on it.

"Go on and read it to us," said the oldest boy, wriggling himself up closer. And Hosmer Curtis began—following the words with his thumb:

"_{Crumms's Landing}.

"Your affec brother,
Alfred.

"I don't know as I'd like to be a soldier," said the boy with the gunpowder bottle—he was also the proud possessor of the long rifle. "'Tisn't so much fun, I guess. Think so, Skinny?"

"You're a 'fraid-cat," returned the boy with the belt. "That's what you are, Will Tevis."

The other flushed, but said nothing; he was by far the smallest of the three.

"How do you know Alfred was captured?" said the thin one, after a silence of a minute.

"He was on the missing list—that's all we know," said Hosmer, putting the letter back into his pocket.

"It will be the Fourth in two days, now," remarked Skinny, as if to change the subject. "But I hain't heard any talk about any celebration."

"Let's have one all to ourselves," suggested Hosmer.

"What with?" asked the smallest boy. "I guess this is all the gunpowder there is in town." He held up the bottle. "'Tain't more'n three charges, anyhow," he added.

"I know where there's all the powder you want to look at," said the thin warrior, who jumped suddenly down from the fence. "Oh! and I say, you know the two old iron cannon—if we could only get them out—hey?"

"They're locked up in the engine-house," rejoined Master Tevis.

"What's the matter with an anvil? It makes a lot of noise," suggested Hosmer. "Where do you get the powder, Skinny?"

"Skinny," whose real name was Ambrose F. Skinner, Jun., assumed a very mysterious air.

"Now, listen, and I'll tell you," he said. "You remember when they had that smash up on the railroad last week—don't you?"

"You mean the train going South to the army?" asked Hosmer.

"Yep, that's it. Happened last Thursday," responded Ambrose, growing excited. "Well! they ran two