The Riddle Club at Sunrise Beach

"AND NOW LET'S HAVE SOME BREAKFAST."
The Riddle Club at Sunrise Beach. Frontispiece—(Page 229)

THE RIDDLE CLUB
AT SUNRISE BEACH

How They Toured to the Shore
What Happened on the Sand
And How They Solved the Mystery of
Rattlesnake Island

BY

ALICE DALE HARDY

Author of "The Riddle Club at Home," "The Riddle Club Through the Holidays," Etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY

WALTER S. ROGERS

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS

Made in the United States of America

THE RIDDLE CLUB BOOKS

By ALICE DALE HARDY

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.

The Riddle Club at Home
The Riddle Club in Camp
The Riddle Club through the Holidays
The Riddle Club at Sunrise Beach

GROSSET & DUNLAP

Publishers : : New York

Copyright, 1925, by

GROSSET & DUNLAP

The Riddle Club at Sunrise Beach

CONTENTS

THE RIDDLE CLUB AT SUNRISE BEACH

[CHAPTER I]

AN INFORMAL SESSION

"I don't think you ought to be fussing just because it is a little hot," Jess Larue said, scrubbing her chin with a moist and grimy handkerchief.

"A little hot!" cried Margy Williamson. "Why, last night I couldn't sleep a wink. I think last night was the hottest night we ever had in River Bend."

Fred, Margy's twin brother, pretended to fan himself.

"I never knew it to be like this before," he complained, mimicking his sister's tone. "Every year, just before the Fourth, we always have a snowstorm. I remember last year we shot off firecrackers under the snowman we built, and it was so cold not even the heat could melt the snow."

Margy sniffed and Artie Marley giggled.

"Oh, of course it's hot! But who cares?" said Polly Marley, the born peacemaker. "Think about the beach and the fun we'll have there. And just as soon as Ward comes, we'll hold our meeting."

"I don't know what can be keeping him." Jess spoke of her brother. "He can't run fast, because he is so fat, but he can hurry when he wants to. Perhaps he stayed to watch the boat come in."

It was a pleasant room in which the five children were gathered, even if it was a loft room of the Larue barn. The window was up and let in plenty of light and as much air as could be expected to circulate on a warm July day. From this window, neat gardens could be seen, and, beyond the gardens, green fields where early haymaking was already in progress.

"I'm going to finish sewing, if we have to wait forever," said Margy, moving over to the table. "Lend me your thimble, Jess?"

The room was so small that a table, a rug, and the six chairs for the members were all that could be squeezed into it. Margy, who was a good needlewoman and a little vain of her accomplishment, had a heap of soft bright green material on the table, and now she bent over this.

"What are you making, Margy?" asked Artie Marley curiously.

"Sewing the initials on my bathing suit," Margy returned. "See?"

She held up the Jersey cloth and showed the white letters "R.C." basted in place.

"How lovely!" cried Polly. "We can all have initials. That will be fun."

"But our pins are blue and gold," Artie objected, feeling of the little pin on his blouse.

"Well, this isn't a pin I'm putting on my bathing suit—just initials," said Margy.

"I guess Mother will sew some on for me," Jess announced hopefully. "My bathing suit is red—white letters would look all right, wouldn't they?"

"Of course. I'll have white, too, on my blue suit," decided Polly. "Where did you get your letters, Margy?"

"Mother cut them out for me—white flannel," Margy murmured, absorbed in going around the curve of the "C" with close, even stitches. "She cut out a set for each of you."

As Fred and Artie began to discuss how far it was from the window to the ground, Polly decided to call the meeting to order. Once the boys talked about jumping, it would be only a step to the actual jump.

"The Riddle Club will please come to order!" said Polly, thumping the table impressively. "While we are waiting for Mr. Ward Larue to arrive with the fireworks, we'll take up unfinished business—if there is any."

"I collected the dues," Fred contributed, and his manner indicated that his interest in any other club business was of the slightest.

Fred was club treasurer, and every one agreed that he was devoted to his duties.

"Oh, Polly, it's too hot to bother!" said Margy Williamson. "There isn't any unfinished business, anyway."

"What makes you so touchy, Margy?" Jess asked curiously.

To her surprise, Margy did not "flare up." Instead tears came into her eyes.

"I thought we'd have such fun at Sunrise Beach," she explained. "But ever since I heard Mattie Helms' mother had taken a bungalow there, I haven't felt like going. Everything will be spoiled!"

Polly swept away the sewing and gave Margy a hug that, despite its warmth, was very comforting.

"You're tired getting ready and the last day of school upset you," she declared. "Just wait till you get to the Beach—you may not see Mattie all summer. She is at the end where all the new houses are and we're in the unfashionable section. It will take more than Mattie Helms to spoil our fun."

"Ask a riddle, Polly," suggested Jess. "Here we are having a meeting and we haven't done a thing."

"All right, I know a riddle that is just the thing for to-day," said Polly, smiling. "I'll ask you, Margy. Name a wheel that can't be used in any machinery."

Margy thought for a moment. Her face cleared.

"A bicycle!" said she.

"You can use a bicycle in machinery," Polly insisted. "Take it apart and use it for lots of things. Three guesses, Margy, because it isn't thinking weather, as Artie says. Try again."

Margy thought so long that her brother Fred began to shuffle his feet impatiently. Margy looked at him reproachfully.

"How can I think when you are so noisy?" she asked. "Is this right, Polly? A flywheel?"

Fred and Artie hooted, for this was too much for their mechanical minds.

"A flywheel is a part of machinery," Fred explained.

"Then it must be a wheelwright," said Margy.

"What's that?" Artie demanded, while Polly looked puzzled.

"It's a man, isn't it?" said Jess slowly.

"Yes. And you can't use a man in any machinery can you?" Margy pointed out. "Daddy told me the other night about a wheelwright."

"But he isn't a wheel," declared Fred. "That isn't the answer, is it, Polly? Anyway, you said it was just the thing for to-day, and I don't see what a wheelwright has to do with to-day."

"The real answer is a pin-wheel," Polly explained. "And it's only two days to Fourth of July, you know, so it fits."

"Isn't it funny I didn't think of that?" said Margy. "But as long as we haven't forfeits, I don't mind. We shan't have forfeits, shall we, Polly, because it is so hot?"

"Margy can't seem to forget the weather for a minute," Jess thought. But then, Margy had often declared that she liked winter better than summer. Unfortunately she liked winter when it was summer and as soon as it began to snow she was heard to sigh for summer! There are a great many people who feel about the weather as she did.

"It's your turn now, Jess," said Polly quietly.

Jess Larue pulled her curly dark hair and thought for as long as two seconds.

"Artie," she said, "what kind of crackers are there that no one would care to eat?"

"Graham," Artie responded promptly.

They all laughed, for Artie's dislike for graham crackers was well known. Wherever he went, he was sure to be offered graham crackers—the River Bend mothers thought graham crackers wholesome, and so they are—and Artie had once been heard to say that if he ever kept a grocery store not a graham cracker should be allowed on his shelves.

"No, that's not right," declared Jess. "Try again."

"Nutcrackers?" said Artie brilliantly.

"Say, you're all right!" Fred exclaimed approvingly. "Isn't that the right answer, Jess? No one would care to eat nutcrackers?"

"No, they wouldn't," agreed Jess. "But, you see, I forgot to tell you this is a Fourth of July riddle."

"It's my fault," Polly announced, flushing a little. "I should have said that at this meeting all the riddles must have something to do with the Fourth of July. Thinking about Ward and waiting for him, made me forget."

"He's stopped somewhere," said Jess. "Well, Artie, you have one more guess. What kind of crackers would no one care to eat—and it has to do with Fourth of July, remember."

"Huh, firecrackers," Artie guessed confidently. "That's easy."

Jess admitted that he was right.

"But if I hadn't told you about the Fourth, you never would have guessed it," she told him.

It was decided that Fred was to ask the next riddle, and he was ready.

"Polly," he said slowly, "what kind of a candle never stands still?"

"A revolving one," Polly answered, speaking before she thought.

Naturally Fred demanded to know what a revolving candle was and Polly had to confess that she didn't know.

"It might be in a lantern," contributed Jess helpfully, but Fred discarded this answer as "silly."

"Well, two more guesses won't help me," Polly declared. "So I'll give up. What kind of a candle never stands still, Fred?"

"A Roman candle," said Fred.

Polly looked a little blank.

"Of course you don't want to say it that way," Fred explained. "Say a roaming candle and you'll get the idea."

"Lots of children say a 'roaming candle,'" declared Margy.

"But I don't," replied Polly. "Still, if you say that is the answer to the riddle, all right, it is."

"Now it's my turn!" Artie cried eagerly.

But he did not have a chance to ask his riddle. Just as he opened his mouth and the riddle trembled on the tip of his tongue, a loud explosion sounded outside.

Bang!

"A cannon!" screamed Jess. "Some one fired off a cannon!"

Bang! bang! bang!

As one person, the five children raced for the door. Down the loft ladder they tumbled and made for the barn door.

"It was, too, a cannon—half a dozen cannons," Jess argued as she ran. "What else could make a noise like that?"

[CHAPTER II]

WARD'S HARD LUCK

The noise of the explosions had been heard throughout the neighborhood. From the houses near by heads were thrust from the windows and a nervous dog was barking excitedly, trying to tell any one who would listen that he just knew something had happened.

"What was it?" cried Polly, as she and the other members of the Riddle Club ran out. "Where was it? It sounded back of the barn."

Around to the other side of the Larue barn the boys and girls ran and there saw a sight that made them gasp in astonishment. Ward Larue, Jess's brother, sat on the ground, surrounded by the smoking ruins of what had been a large package of fine fireworks. There was nothing left of the treasure but a few smoldering sticks—everything had burned.

"All blew up—everything!" was the way Ward expressed it.

"Are you hurt?" demanded Polly anxiously.

"What happened?" Margy cried.

"Where are the fireworks?" This from Artie, though what was left of the fireworks was only too apparent.

Ward got slowly to his feet. He was not seriously hurt, though one or two of his fingers were painfully scorched. He blew upon them to cool them.

"Now we haven't got a blamed thing for the Fourth of July," he remarked sadly. "After I spent two days persuading Fred to let us spend some of the money, too!"

Even Fred had to laugh at this. Ward had been most insistent that some of the dues of the club be expended for fireworks and he had, with some assistance from the others, induced Fred, as treasurer, to let them take a small sum from the bank and expend it for the coming Fourth of July celebration.

"Never mind, as long as you are not hurt," said Polly consolingly. "It is a wonder you didn't blow up with the fireworks."

"I suppose you put a box of matches in with 'em," Fred suggested. "Or were you fooling with the punk?"

Ward glanced at him indignantly. It was bad enough, he thought, to be almost frightened out of his wits by having a package of fireworks go off in his arms, but to be accused of setting the fire was too much.

"Is any one killed?" asked Mrs. Pepper, peering fearfully over the fence.

Her garden joined the Larue place and she had been weeding her onions when the noise had startled her and made her, so she complained, drop the sharp hoe on her foot.

"I came within an ace of slicing off my toe," she said. "What was that racket?"

"I had some fireworks and they blew up," Ward explained.

"I wish they'd all blow up and get it over with," announced Mrs. Pepper grimly. "The time to have fireworks go off is a week before the Fourth. Then we might enjoy the day in peace."

She looked severely at Ward as though she blamed him for the fireworks that had not blown up.

"Perhaps now you'll be spared to your folks for another year, with all your arms and legs," continued Mrs. Pepper. "You take my advice and don't get any more fireworks, young man."

She went back to her weeding, and Ward complained that there was no hope of getting more fireworks. Not unless Fred resigned as treasurer.

"What I want to know," Fred said sternly, ignoring this last remark, "is this: How came the explosions?"

Ward beckoned toward the barn door.

"Come up to the clubroom and I'll tell you," he whispered mysteriously.

Back in the clubroom, the members of the Riddle Club gathered around Ward. He was still carrying the smoking remains of the fireworks and now he put them down on the table and looked at them regretfully.

"They were the best Roman candles you ever saw," he mourned. "Better than last year, a heap. And pinwheels and snakes——"

Margy gave a squeak of anguish. "Snakes" were her pet diversion on the Fourth and she had expressly stipulated that they be included in Ward's purchases.

"But how did they blow up? What happened?" urged Fred.

"Those fireworks," Ward said solemnly, "were blown up!"

The others stared at him. Polly was the first to speak.

"You mean," she almost whispered, "you mean—some one deliberately blew them up?"

Ward nodded. His round face was smudged with smoke and damp with perspiration.

"Firecracker!" he told them shortly. "Joe Anderson threw it."

"That mean, hateful boy!" sputtered Margy, but Fred was strangely calm.

"Are you sure?" he demanded.

"Of course I'm sure," and Ward nodded. "I was coming around the back way, to go into the barn, and all of a sudden Joe ran out from behind the old lilac bush. He had a firecracker in his hand and it was sputtering. I yelled at him, but he threw it straight at me and the next thing I knew things started to go off with a bang. Did you hear it?" he asked as an afterthought.

"Yes, we heard it," admitted Fred.

"Of all the mean boys!" Margy said again. "Now I hope the Conundrum Club is happy—we won't have a thing to celebrate with on the Fourth of July."

"Perhaps he didn't know Ward was carrying fireworks," protested Polly, the peacemaker.

"Maybe there is something that will go off yet," her brother Artie suggested, a hopeful hint that had the effect of setting them all to looking over the wreckage to see what might be salvaged.

If this is the first time you have met these girls and boys, you will need to know something more about them. The history of the Riddle Club, how Polly Marley started it and how it prospered so that a rival organization was formed, is told in the first book of this series, called "The Riddle Club at Home." The story of the first prize riddle contests and how they were won, is also told in that book. A second volume, "The Riddle Club in Camp" follows the adventures of the six chums at beautiful Lake Bassing and tells how they were able to help a kind old hermit find his lost home and friends. Up to that time the Riddle Club had met in the Larue barn, where they had a room to themselves. But cold weather made a heated room desirable, and when Mrs. Marley gave them the use of a room in her house for the winter, the club took possession gratefully. How they enjoyed the winter and what sport they had, is revealed in the third book, "The Riddle Club Through the Holidays." Treasurer Fred Williamson lost the dues and the bank. But he found them again, and the experience only tended to make him more careful.

As soon as spring came, the children moved back to the clubroom in the Larue barn, for it was a delightful place and had the additional charm of seclusion. No matter how much the boys and girls stamped on the floor, or how often they might be moved to song, no one would ever be disturbed. No wonder the members of the Conundrum Club, of which Carrie Pepper was president, often envied the Riddle Club its choice of meeting places.

"There isn't a thing left," pronounced Fred, when he had examined the blackened ruins. "Not a thing. I wish I knew whether Joe meant to throw that firecracker at you."

"There wasn't any one else back of the barn except me," Ward declared. "Of course he was throwing it at me."

"Well, he might not have known that you were carrying fireworks," said Fred. "He might have been trying to scare you and tossed the firecracker before he noticed what you had in your arms."

"Yes, that must have been it," Polly chimed in, always ready to find an excuse for every one.

Ward did not seem convinced.

"Then why," he asked slowly, "didn't Joe Anderson stick around when he heard the noise? How did he know I wasn't burned up or something?"

This was a difficult question to answer, so no one attempted to reply. Instead, Polly suggested that they consider the meeting adjourned and go in to supper.

Of course, with the Fourth of July two days away and no fireworks on hand, the Riddle Club had something to think about. Urged by Fred and by Polly, who, as the oldest, had considerable influence, they were careful not to accuse Joe Anderson of purposely setting fire to the package in Ward's arms.

"You can't go around saying he did it," Fred declared, "for there is no way to prove it. Anyway, we can show the Conundrum Club that we don't bicker. We'll have some fireworks, anyway, because we each have a dollar to spend."

On hearing the tragic news, the three mothers had generously provided a dollar for each club member, and this, on the advice of Polly, was to be most wisely expended "fifty-fifty" for firecrackers by day and Roman candles and other glittering delights by night.

"We ought to get a lot of stuff," said Fred cheerfully, as they set off for the shop the next morning. "I'm glad now that Ward went early; if he had waited till the last minute and then the things blew up, everything might have been sold out."

Six dollars will, as you doubtless know, buy a quantity of firecrackers, punk and fireworks, even for six children with varying demands and tastes. Mr. Harrison, whose small store was crammed with Fourth of July supplies, wrapped everything up in one large package and the three boys agreed to take turns carrying it.

"Let's go down by the wharf," suggested Polly, as they left the shop.

Mr. Larue was the head of the steamboat line, and the wharf on which his office was built was of course familiar ground to the Riddle Club. Nearly all the express and freight business in River Bend was done by the boats, as the nearest railroad was some miles away.

"You're just the folks I wanted to see," said Mr. Larue, who was busy on the wharf as the boys and girls came in sight. "There is a package here addressed to the Riddle Club. I thought you might know something about it and where it ought to go."

"A package!" said six voices in chorus. "Who sent it?"

[CHAPTER III]

THE GLORIOUS FOURTH

"Where is it?" cried Artie, in great excitement.

"What is it?" Ward demanded.

Mr. Larue smiled as he continued to write placidly in his consignment book.

"I do not know what is in it," he admitted. "But I can tell you where to find it—on my desk."

Mr. Larue's office was small, but the entire membership of the Riddle Club succeeded in getting through the narrow doorway at the same moment—or nearly. There on the desk was a large square package.

"The Riddle Club, River Bend, Wharf Number One," read Polly aloud. "Oh, my goodness! What do you suppose it can be?"

The sharp-eyed Margy had been reading the sender's address printed in the upper right-hand corner.

"Look!" she cried. "Look! It says 'T. Kirby, Rye.' Mr. Kirby sent it to us!"

Before any one could stop him, Ward had torn off a small corner of the wrapping paper.

"Fireworks!" he shouted. "I saw the red! I saw the red!"

He meant he had seen the brilliant red of the paper which enclosed the contents of the package.

Of course there was nothing to do but open the parcel. It was from Mr. Kirby, the cousin of the old hermit the children had befriended at camp, the same Mr. Kirby who had sent them their club pins and rings. Evidently he knew exactly what the Riddle Club liked, though he could not have known their special need for fireworks, since the package had been expressed before the explosion which had come so near to burning Ward.

"Say!" Fred was so excited he almost stuttered. "Say! I tell you what let's do—we won't say a word about these fireworks. We'll pretend we have only the stuff we bought this afternoon, and then Fourth of July night we'll set all this off and the Conundrum Club won't know what to make of it."

Every one agreed to this plan and the package was left in the office, Mr. Larue promising to bring it home with him that night. This proved to be a lucky decision, as far as secrecy was concerned, for halfway home the children met Carrie Pepper, the head of the rival club, accompanied by two other members of the Conundrum Club, Stella Dorman and Albert Holmes.

"Where you been?" asked Carrie sociably.

"We had to go and buy more fireworks," Fred answered, noting with alarm the blank look in Artie Marley's eyes.

Artie was rather absent-minded and he had been known to give away a secret without knowing it.

"Oh, yes, yours burned up, didn't they?" said Carrie. "That was too bad. I don't suppose you could get very much; all the good things were bought. We have some dandy fireworks. We are going to set them off on my lawn. You'll be able to see them, and that will be almost as much fun as though you had some."

"Oh, we have some," Margy hastened to explain. "We each had a dollar, and if you put everything together, you have more, or at least it always seems that way."

"Well, anyway, you can see ours," repeated Carrie. "We have two dozen Roman candles."

Stella Dorman stared coolly at Ward.

"You burned up the fireworks, didn't you?" she asked, with apparent interest.

The unexpectedness of this left Ward gasping for breath. Jess spoke for him.

"Ward had nothing to do with it," she cried indignantly. "It's a wonder he wasn't burned up—every one says so. Joe Anderson threw a lighted firecracker and it exploded all the stuff."

"But he didn't mean to," Carrie put in hastily. "Joe wasn't looking. He just threw the firecracker over his shoulder and he jumped a mile when he heard the explosion."

"Yes, we noticed he jumped around the block and down the street home," commented Fred dryly.

"You don't think he meant to do it, do you?" Albert Holmes said. "Joe wouldn't do a thing like that."

Ward had regained his breath by this time and he was determined to be heard.

"I don't see," he remarked a little pensively, "how any one can throw a firecracker over his shoulder the minute I come in sight. He waited till I was almost in front of him."

"He told me that the firecracker was ready to explode," Albert insisted. "You wouldn't want him to burn his fingers off, would you?"

"I think we ought to be going home," said Polly. "Mother wants me to help her pack—the trunks are going to-night."

"We're going to Sunrise Beach for the whole summer," proclaimed Carrie. "If you get time, come and see us. We'll be at the bungalow colony: Mattie Helms' mother has a beautiful new bungalow."

"Now, Margy, don't burst," advised Polly, as the Riddle Club members walked on. "I wish you could have seen your face when Carrie was talking. You looked like some offended queen."

"Did you ever hear of anything so silly in your life!" sputtered Margy furiously. "Asking us to come and see her as though she had just met us. And I've known Carrie Pepper ever since we were in kindergarten!"

Margy was just a little inclined to "put on airs" herself, if the truth were known, but she did not like to be the victim of some one else's affectations.

"Oh, what difference does it make?" good-natured Polly protested. "We won't see her all summer—at least I don't think we shall. The Helms love to dress up and have parties, and we are not going to have that kind of summer at all."

"Anyway, wait till we have our own fireworks party," Artie said gayly. "Perhaps the Conundrum Club will come over and watch us. And won't they wonder where we got the stuff!"

The evening before the Fourth was close and muggy, but it is doubtful if any of the Riddle Club members minded the heat, even Margy, who dearly liked to be comfortable. Lights burned late in the Marley and Larue and Williamson houses, for trunks were being packed for the trip to Sunrise Beach. They would go to the railroad station by motor truck late that night, and the day after the Fourth of July the three families were to follow, making the trip in Mr. Larue's and Mr. Williamson's cars.

"I want to be right here at home for the Fourth," Mrs. Marley had declared, when the question was raised of spending the holiday at the beach. "Shore towns are crowded over the Fourth and we shall be more comfortable in our own homes. Besides, the traffic will be less crowded the day after, one way at least. Let's stay at home till after the Fourth."

This was felt to be wise advice, and the boys and girls were secretly pleased. They had a good many matters of importance to attend to, including the meeting of the Riddle Club which Ward had so unfortunately missed, and they felt that fireworks at home might present greater opportunities for "experiments" than a strange resort would afford.

Boom! sounded early the next morning. Boom! Boom!

"It's Fourth of July!" shouted Jess, tumbling out of bed. "I told Ward to wake me up!"

But Ward was merrily firing his crackers, with no thought of sleeping sisters. Fred Williamson and Artie Marley were with him, and by the time the three girls had joined them they had made a respectable hole in their packages and had announced to all of River Bend that another Independence Day had dawned.

"Mother says not to shoot another thing till after breakfast," said Margy. "Oh-h, look at the tin can!"

For as she spoke a tin can sailed skyward with telling effect and Fred beamed proudly.

"Let me do that!" begged Margy.

"After breakfast," Fred promised, and the chums separated reluctantly.

They all ate with more speed than their mothers could strictly approve, but as the Fourth of July, like Christmas, comes but once a year, leniency was granted.

"It is so warm, I shouldn't think you'd want to go near a firecracker," said Mrs. Marley, catching Artie as he asked to be excused and made a dash for the front porch.

"Oh, yes, Mother, they're great," he assured her. "Only Joe Anderson has a pistol," he added.

"He's a more foolish and reckless boy than I gave him credit for, then," declared Artie's father, who overheard this. "A lad of his age has no business with such a thing."

"Now let me fire a tin can," Margy demanded, as soon as they were reassembled after breakfast.

The sun was blazing down over them, but the boys and girls scarcely felt its rays. Margy knelt on the gravel walk and held her breath while she touched the firecracker with a long piece of punk, clapped the tin can over it, and dashed back to the grass.

The can trembled violently—and fell over.

"Yours went up!" complained Margy. "Why didn't mine go up, Fred?"

"Practice," her brother returned, but Polly laughed.

"He put more crackers under it, of course," she said. "Look, Margy—this is the way."

And Polly deftly placed a mound of half a dozen crackers under the can, touched a fuse with her lighted punk, and let the can slip over the sputtering pile.

Bang! the can shot to a gratifying height and Margy gazed at her friend with respect.

"I can do that," she declared. "Let me try it."

So Margy tried again, and then Jess, and finally they all tired of shooting off firecrackers under a can and turned their attention to something else.

"Want to see how far I can throw one?" boasted Artie. "Just you watch."

They were on the Marley lawn, and Mrs. Marley had cautioned them not to throw any of the lighted firecrackers toward the house. So now Artie, in his best pitching form, hurled a lighted cracker toward the road.

It went further than his fondest hopes encouraged him to expect. That lighted cracker landed in the middle of the road, beyond the sidewalk.

"Good gracious!" whispered Polly suddenly. "There's Mrs. Pepper's pet rooster. You don't suppose he will try to eat it, do you?"

"He is!" Jess shrieked. "I'm not going to look!" and she put her hands over her ears as though they would prevent her seeing what might be going to happen.

[CHAPTER IV]

MR. KIRBY'S PACKAGE

Mrs. Pepper, Carrie's mother, was very proud of her chickens. She spent a good deal of time and money in caring for them, and they were seldom allowed to stray from their own runs. But sometimes, as on an extremely warm day, she would let them out for a change of scene, and it must be stated that her neighbors did not like their subsequent behavior. Mrs. Pepper's chickens visited all the gardens and scratched up neat lawns and entered into battles with the dogs and cats who tried to argue the right of way with them.

Now here was the pet, prize rooster of the Pepper flock, gravely inspecting the sputtering firecracker Artie had thrown into the road.

"Go chase him!" Polly urged. "Chase him quick!"

Artie meant to be quick, but the fuse was short and just as he started the rooster bent his head to peck at the fraying, reddening string. It behaved, he probably thought, like some kind of worm.

Bang! Fire and smoke and a terrible noise overwhelmed the poor rooster, and with a loud squawk he scuttled for the safety of his own chickenyard.

"If my mother catches you throwing firecrackers at her chickens, she'll tell your father, Artie Marley!" called Carrie Pepper, appearing around a bush of the Larue place, a piece of lighted punk in her hand.

The Larues lived across the street from the Marleys and the Pepper house and yard faced on another street. But the back yards of the Larue and the Pepper places joined and most of the fences were hedge, so that it was easy enough to go from one street to the other without going around.

Artie, halted on his errand of mercy, looked as guilty as though he had intentionally thrown the cracker at the rooster.

"He came after it!" he told Carrie lamely.

"Huh, I suppose he did—and you came down to meet him," Carrie retorted disagreeably.

"Don't argue, Artie," Polly called in a low voice. "Come on back and we'll do something else."

Carrie was fond of declaring that she couldn't "abide" the Riddle Club—she didn't like any of the boys and girls who belonged to it. And yet, strange to say, whatever they did or said had a tremendous fascination for her. She wanted to be with them and listen to them.

"I'm waiting for Mattie Helms to come over," Carrie announced. "I'll come over and sit on your steps, I guess. Are those all the fireworks you have?"

"Well, ours burned up, you know," said Fred, trying hard to make his voice sound pathetic. "Of course, we did the best we could, but we couldn't buy so many things for to-night. Flower-pots and things like that cost too much."

"Firecrackers are cheap, but they don't look pretty at night," Jess observed, unconsciously helping Fred out.

"You ought to see what we're going to have to-night," said Carrie complacently. "Red and green and yellow fire—pinwheels—sky rockets—Roman candles. I guess you can see them from here. I have invited all the Conundrum Club over to our house, or I'd ask you to come over."

"Oh, we can see," Fred assured her.

"Don't you want to set off a snake?" said Polly quietly.

Carrie was as fond of "snakes" as Margy was, and she graciously consented to touch off one of the silvery, wriggling things. Indeed, so pleasant was this that she set off two more without further invitation. Then she tried some of the "baby" firecrackers—setting off half a pack at a time for the fun of seeing them sparkle and hiss—and she burned a package of sparklers and used up a box of torpedoes, aiming at a flower-pot.

"I guess I'll have to go around to Mattie's house and see why she doesn't come," she said, when not another torpedo could she shake from the box. "Don't forget to watch our things to-night."

When she was gone the Riddle Club looked at one another. Polly snickered and Jess laughed outright. Ward and Artie fell into each other's arms and rolled on the lawn, always an indication of their delight.

"I don't think it's funny," Margy said. "She burned up three of my snakes, and I have only four left."

"Take mine, Margy darling," offered the generous Polly. "I was the one who asked her to do it. But I didn't know she would try everything we had."

By afternoon, about everything in the first package had been fired off. The lawn looked as though a small battle had been staged on it and even Artie, most ardent of patriots, was ready to take kindly to the idea of lunch, a bath, clean clothes and the "exercises" on the town green.

Nearly every one in River Bend went to the Fourth of July exercises. The band played patriotic airs, the Declaration of Independence was read, and there were one or two speeches, followed by community singing.

"I wish it would hurry and get dark," said Ward, as the six chums were walking home together after the singing. "It's such fun to have fireworks that we don't know ourselves."

"You mean we don't know what they are," Fred replied. "Wouldn't it be a joke if Mr. Kirby sent us candy fireworks or something like that?"

"He wouldn't," declared Polly. "He never plays that silly kind of jokes."

"Here comes Miss Allen," Artie said quickly. "I wonder where she's been; she always leads the singing at the exercises."

Miss Allen was the town nurse, and she smiled when she saw the children.

"You'll have to go and see Joe Anderson and try and cheer him up," she said, putting down her black bag on the pavement and fanning herself with her handkerchief. She had been walking fast and was warm.

"Is he sick?" asked Polly quickly.

"Oh, dear no, not sick! Didn't you hear?" Miss Allen returned. "His pistol exploded—just before I was starting for the exercises—and he has some painful powder burns."

"It won't kill him, will it?" Margy said fearfully, while the others stared.

"Mercy no," the nurse answered vigorously. "He's lucky to get off as lightly as he has, though. The pistol was old and a cheap affair, and he should never have been allowed to touch it. His right hand is burned, but not deeply. Doctor Mains says he'll be all right in a few weeks."

She went on and the Riddle Club members continued their walk, a little sobered by the news.

"Do you suppose Joe really did mean to set off the fireworks?" asked Artie seriously.

"I do," Fred announced promptly. "But I don't see any sense in going all around town, spouting that. I wouldn't be surprised to hear it was a nice little plan, made up by some one who told him how to go about it. Joe isn't very good when it comes to having ideas of his own."

"I'll bet he means Carrie Pepper suggested that," said Jess to herself.

But she forgot Carrie and the burned fireworks when they reached home and found that Mrs. Williamson had invited the Riddle Club to a porch supper. It was served on the big front porch and was exactly like a picnic except, as Ward put it, you did not have to go anywhere.

"Where'll we set off our fireworks?" asked Fred, munching his fourth peanut butter sandwich.