...
Boats were beginning to thicken on the Lake and the clang of incessantly
arriving trolleys announced the return of the crowds from the
ball-field. The shadows lengthened across the pearl-grey water and two
white clouds near the sun were turning golden. On the opposite shore men
were hammering hastily at a wooden scaffolding in a field. Charity asked
what it was for.
"Why, the fireworks. I suppose there'll be a big show." Harney looked at
her and a smile crept into his moody eyes. "Have you never seen any good
fireworks?"
"Miss Hatchard always sends up lovely rockets on the Fourth," she
answered doubtfully.
"Oh----" his contempt was unbounded. "I mean a big performance like
this, illuminated boats, and all the rest."
She flushed at the picture. "Do they send them up from the Lake, too?"
"Rather. Didn't you notice that big raft we passed? It's wonderful to
see the rockets completing their orbits down under one's feet." She said
nothing, and he put the oars into the rowlocks. "If we stay we'd better
go and pick up something to eat.
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