at is to come."

"Thank you, Mr Winters," said my father, quietly. "If we are staunch
to each other I have no fear for the result."

"Look--look!" came in a low murmur, and my heart sank, for it seemed so
piteous to see the bright glare rising over the forest, as the poor
house over which so much pains had been taken seemed, in spite of the
distance, to be sending up wreath after wreath of golden smoke, while
for a short time there was a ruddy light spreading high up into the sky.

But it all faded out as rapidly as it had arisen, and I went down into
the enclosure, to stumble soon after upon Morgan, who said grimly--

"Didn't think after that soaking, look you, she would have burnt out so
quick, Master George."

"Oh, don't talk about it, Morgan," I said. "There, I must lie down now;
I am too weak and tired to stand."

"Come this way then, my lad, and lean on me," he said gently; and he
helped me to where I could see something white lying on the ground.

It was the great bundle Sarah had made, and close by it lay Pomp fast
asleep.

"Burned so quickly after the soaking it had had," seemed to be buzzing
in my brain, and the ruddy glow flashed up before my eyes once more; but
only in imagination, for I believe that as my head touched that great
soft bundle, regardless of danger from tomahawk or arrow, I went off
fast asleep, and slept on hour after hour, nor opened my eyes again till
it was broad day.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

It was a miserable scene upon which I gazed, in spite of its being a
bright clear morning; but as I grasped where I was, and shook off the
drowsy confusion, there was a feeling of thankfulness in my heart, for
the dark night had passed away, and we had not been attacked by the
Indians.

But the moment I had felt more cheerful, down came a depressing cloud,
as I remembered our row for life, our narrow escape, and the reflection
of the fire I had seen.

"Poor old house!" I sighed to myself, for it was so terrible that the
beautiful little home should have been utterly destroyed; and it all
seemed to come up before me with its high-pitched gable ends, the rough
pine porch, the lead-paned windows that came over from England; and as I
saw it all in imagination once more, I fancied how the passion-flowers
and other creepers must have looked crisping and curling up as the
flames reached them; and what with my miserable thoughts, the stiffness
I felt from my previous day's exertions, and t