manners.
Theirs not to make a row,
Theirs not to question how,
Theirs but to charge the cow,
Into the grazing herd
Marched the red banners.

"'Cows to the right of them.
Cows to the left of them,
Cows still in front of them,
Peacefully chewing.
Gazed at in wild surprise,
Boldly, with steady eyes,
Marched on at double-quick
Shouting their battle-cries,
To their undoing.'

"'Whisked all the tails so bare,
Whisked in the sultry air,
Staring, as cows do stare,
Chewing the cud the while.
When from the close ranks
Broke forth a muffled beat.
Not of bass drums, but feet,
Jersey and Alderney
Gazed on this mad retreat,
Gazed on the gay pranks
Of the old bull, who had
Broken the phalanx.

"'Fence to the right of them,
Fence to the left of them,
Jones's bull behind them.
Pawing and bellowing.
What need commands to tell?
Boldly they ran and well,
Not one small private fell.

"'Out of the horns of death,
Sergeant and squad pellmell,
Through the barbed-wire fence
Crawled the torn column.
When can their glory fade,
Oh, the retreat they made,
All Raleigh applauded!
Honor the Sergeant's feet,
Honor the squad's retreat,
Long be it lauded!'"

"Guy, that's fine!" ejaculated little Billy. "Isn't it, Dick?" enthusiastically.

"Slickest thing I've ever heard," answered Dick.

"We did get to that fence quick, and no mistake. And, George! I woke up every night for a week dreaming that the old bull was just running his horns into me."

"We'll have to do something to get a better 'rep,'" said Tommy; "we've done nothing but retreat so far. Old Farmer Applegate sent us flying, when he had nothing but cow-hide boots and a pitchfork."

"It was his garden," reflected Fatty Simmons; "that was why I ran."

"Well, what are we going to do to-morrow, that's what I want to know?" said Jack Green.

"I have it!" exclaimed the Sergeant, his eyes sparkling. "The very thing, fellows! I heard Davis and Jim White talking yesterday (they didn't know I was there), and they were arranging a scheme for the Fourth, which it would be dandy fun to break up."

"What was it?" the others asked, eagerly.

"You know the little cannon in Mr. Scott's field? He thinks no end of it; it's a Revolutionary relic or Waterloo or something. Well, those fellows are going to steal it to-night and have a great time to-morrow. Five of them are in it."

"Whew!" whistled Herbert Day. "I shouldn't like to be in their shoes when Mr. Scott finds it out; he'll make it hot for them! But how's that going to help us, Tommy; we're not in it?"

"I know; but what we want to do," answered the Sergeant, "is to guard the cannon and spoil their little game. It would be great to get ahead of Davis for once."

"Wouldn't they punch our heads?" said Billy, doubtfully; "they're bigger."

"I'd like to see them," blustered Fatty; "we'd run them through with our bayonets."

"What time did they agree to take the cannon, Tommy?" asked Bert.

"After dark, about nine, I suppose. They said they could drag it across the field to Davis's barn, and that nobody would catch on."

"What sport!" chuckled Green. "We'll go early, then, and form in single file round the old cannon, and I'd like to see the man who could take it from us."

"Mr. Scott has a big mastiff, hasn't he?" asked Billy.

"What of that?" scornfully, and Billy was silenced. The boys forgot their heat and fatigue in their eagerness to prepare for such a great undertaking, and over and over again the Sergeant's commands rang out: "Load! squad, ready! aim! fire! Order arms! Load! ready! aim! recover arms! fire!" etc., for a full hour.

At half past eight that same evening the Raleigh Reds, with fife and drum silent, marched through the lane leading to Mr. Scott's field.

"Squad, halt!" was the command when they reached the fence. Then after a whispered consultation and a stealthy glance round, lest the enemy might attack them in the rear, they climbed carefully over the rails, and came down cautiously on the other side.

"Forward, march!" ordered the Sergeant, and his squad started by twos up the field.

The cannon was mounted at the other end, and the shadows which the moon cast across their path looked to the boys' excited fancy like figures rising from the ground.

"A little faster step—hep, hep!" urged the Sergeant, as they lagged. "Double time!" he commanded; but alas! a low ferocious growl, followed by a loud bark, caused a sudden panic in the dauntless Reds.

"The mastiff!" cried Joe Morris; "cut for your lives!"

"Don't you do it! Charge bayonets!" shouted Tom, dismayed by this breaking of the close-locked ranks.

"About face!" yelled Fatty Simmons, assuming the command in his terror: "quick to the fence, fellows—run!" and as the big dark object bounded towards them, the squad for the second time in its short history took to its heels without waiting further orders. Before the Sergeant could collect his scattered wits, a rough hand seized him by the collar, and a grim voice said, "I've caught you, hev I? You'll just come to Mr. Scott, young man; he's waitin' for you."

"Call that dog off; he'll chew them fellows up," gasped Tommy, trying to wriggle away from the tight grip.

"Sarve 'em right for sneaking in after dark and stealing the old cannon that's stood here over a hundred years."

"We didn't steal it," said the indignant Sergeant. "We came to guard it!"

"To guard it! Well, you didn't have much luck, then, for it's been gone this half-hour. Mr. Scott, he's in a terrible way about it."

"My, how early they must have come!" exclaimed Tom.

"They? Who?"

"Why, the fellows we came to keep from taking it." And then he explained to the astonished farmer.

The result was that the "Raleigh Reds" were recalled, trembling, from their refuge behind the rail breastwork. Dom Pedro was quieted down, and the demoralized squad was marched sheepishly to the house as prisoners of war of the tall farmer.

Mr. Scott interviewed them, and his anger gave way to amusement as the boys told, in shamefaced confusion, of their part in the evening's work.

"What your men need, Captain, is experience," he said; "so I will make a bargain with you. If you manage to bring the cannon back by twelve o'clock to-morrow morning, I will promise to furnish the finest display of fireworks ever seen in this town, to celebrate the valor of the 'Raleigh Reds.'"

The boys blushed as crimson as their colors at these words, but Tom replied, stoutly:

"We'll do it, Mr. Scott. Just see if we don't. I know we deserve to be locked up in the guard-house for desertion; but give us one more chance, and if we can't do anything but retreat, and in