Issue 4 and Volume 4.

AN IDYL OF THE FOURTH. MISCELLANY. The boy stood on the back-yard fence, whence all but him had fled, the flames that lit his father’s barn shone just above the shed; one bunch of crackers in his hand, two others in his hat; with piteous accents loud he cried, “I never thought of that!” A bunch of crackers to the tail of one small dog he’d tied; the dog in anguish sought the bam and mid its ruins died; the sparks flew wide and red and hot; they lit upon that brat; they fired the crackers in his hand and eke those in his hat. Then came a burst of rattling sound—the boy! Where was he gone ? Ask of the winds that far around strewed bits of meat and bone, and scraps of clothes and balls and tops and nails and hooks and yarn, the relics of the dreadful…

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