One by one, Daddy would help them shoot off their skyrockets. He would fasten them to a tree, and touch the wick with a match. They held their breath as the rocket swept up, up, and up. Whee--eee--eee! Then the giant bubble would burst, and great colored stars would float upon the night.
Davey craned his neck, and held Grandma’s hand. With all his heart he wished that just one star would float down within his grasp, but they vanished like soap bubbles. Just as one fiery arc would disappear, another would take its place. There were pin wheels whirling their light from posts and trees, and now and then they could hear the swift whoosh and flare of a Roman candle. Katy and Jane lay far out on the pier and watched the display.
Gradually the night grew dark again, and the folks went back to the porch. Good nights and good-bys were said. The sleeping baby, the empty cake dishes, and the rattling pop bottles were tucked into the car, and the Davises went back to town.
Janie lay awake until it was very late. The young folks next door were dancing on their front porch. Someone played an accordion, and it was pleasant lying there in the darkness, half awake, listening. The music faded away. The dancers called out their good nights and went home. The lights went out, and the Fourth of July was almost over. Janie fell asleep.
Buick emerged from under Landry’s porch, and looked around warily. It was very quiet. The battle was over. He shook himself and stretched, and then trotted down to the lake front and lapped the cool water.
The day after the Fourth of July was clean-up day, and Billy and Davey cleaned the yard. The lawn was littered with scraps of firecrackers, and Davey always stopped to examine them in the hopes that he would find a good one. Butch hopped along with them, making a general nuisance of himself. When, at last, a bushel of scrap had been collected, he delved into the basket and came up with an armful. Davey and Bill yelled and chased him, which only made matters worse. He wove an elaborate pattern all over the lawn, leaving a trail behind him like Hansel and Gretel. When the last confetti like bit had been strewn, he climbed a tree, and sat just out of reach of his pursuers. Davey shook a rake at him and Bill scolded, but no one could ever be angry at Butch for long, because at the first sound of an angry voice he would rise up and put both tiny paws over his heart. Pleading, with his head to one side, he looked so forlorn that even the hardest heart would soften toward him.