Peterkin!
It was a moment of great confusion. There were cries and screams.
The bells were still ringing, the cannon firing, and Mr. Peterkin
had just reached the closing words: "Our lives, our fortunes, and
our sacred honor."
"We are all blown up, as I feared we should be," Mrs. Peterkin at
length ventured to say, finding herself in a lilac-bush by the side
of the piazza. She scarcely dared to open her eyes to see the
scattered limbs about her.
It was so with all. Even Ann Maria Bromwick clutched a pillar of
the piazza, with closed eyes.
At length Mr. Peterkin said, calmly, "Is anybody killed?"
There was no reply. Nobody could tell whether it was because
everybody was killed, or because they were too wounded to
answer. It was a great while before Mrs. Peterkin ventured to
move.
But the little boys soon shouted with joy, and cheered the success
of Solomon John's fireworks, and hoped he had some more. One
of them had his face blackened by an unexpected cracker, and
Elizabeth Eliza's muslin dress was burned here and there. But no
one was hurt; no one had lost any limbs, though Mrs. Peterkin was
sure she had seen some flying in the air. Nobody could understand
how, as she had kept her eyes firmly shut.
No greater accident had occurred than the singeing of the tip of
Solomon John's nose. But there was an unpleasant and terrible
odor from the "fulminating paste.
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