It was thought that a peace might thus be bought by a short, though
crowded, period of noise.
The morning came. Even before the morning, at half-past three
o'clock, a terrible blast of the horns aroused the whole family.
Mrs. Peterkin clasped her hands to her head and exclaimed: "I am
thankful the lady from Philadelphia is not here!" For she had been
invited to stay a week, but had declined to come before the Fourth
of July, as she was not well, and her doctor had prescribed quiet.
And the number of the horns was most remarkable! It was as
though every cow in the place had arisen and was blowing
through both her own horns!
"How many little boys are there? How many have we?" exclaimed
Mr. Peterkin, going over their names one by one mechanically,
thinking he would do it, as he might count imaginary sheep
jumping over a fence, to put himself to sleep. Alas!
the counting could not put him to sleep now, in such a din.
And how unexpectedly long the five minutes seemed! Elizabeth
Eliza was to take out her watch and give the signal for the end of
the five minutes, and the ceasing of the horns. Why did not the
signal come? Why did not Elizabeth Eliza stop them?
And certainly it was long before sunrise; there was no dawn to be
seen!
"We will not try this plan again," said Mrs. Peterkin.
"If we live to another Fourth," added Mr. Peterkin, hastening to the
door to inquire into the state of affairs.
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