"Just the thing! Take the washboiler for the explosion," answered Phil.
Haven came next; and although he squirmed somewhat at being lowered into the water, yet he passed the ordeal fairly well. Then the crowd came to Nat Poole.
"You've kept me waiting long enough," complained the aristocratic youth.
"Grumble not, thy doom is doubly sealed," came the solemn answer. "Away with him to the old powder mill."
"The powder mill?" queried Poole anxiously. "I don't want to go to any powder mill."
No answer was vouchsafed to this, and blindfolded he was hurried around the woods and then back to the shed.
"Hello, here are some kegs of powder, all heaped up," cried Dave, in an assumed voice.
"A pretty big pile of them," said Roger, also in an assumed voice.
"Be careful of that fire," shouted Phil, in a high-pitched, nervous tone. "If you aren't careful you'll blow us all to kingdom-come!"
"See here, I don't want to stay!" cried Nat Poole, in greater alarm than before.
He began to struggle, but was quickly made fast to a post. Then the bonfires were started up once more and the smoke was fanned toward him.
