we worked.
Like a wind-mill Dad's bough moved--and how he rushed for another when
one was used up! Once we had the fire almost under control; but the
wind rose again, and away went the flames higher and faster than ever.

"It's no use," said Dad at last, placing his hand on his head, and
throwing down his bough. We did the same, then stood and watched the
fence go. After supper we went out again and saw it still burning. Joe
asked Dad if he did n't think it was a splendid sight? Dad did n't
answer him--he did n't seem conversational that night.

We decided to put the fence up again. Dan had sharpened the axe with a
broken file, and he and Dad were about to start when Mother asked them
what was to be done about flour? She said she had shaken the bag to
get enough to make scones for that morning's breakfast, and unless some
was got somewhere there would be no bread for dinner.

Dad reflected, while Dan felt the edge on the axe with his thumb.

Dad said, "Won't Missus Dwyer let you have a dishful until we get some?"

"No," Mother answered; "I can't ask her until we send back what we owe
them."

Dad reflected again. "The Andersons, then?" he said.

Mother shook her head and asked what good there was it sending to them
when they, only that morning, had sent to her for some?

"Well, we must do the best we can at present," Dad answered, "and I'll
go to the store this evening and see what is to be done."

Putting the fence up again in the hurry that Dad was in was the very
devil! He felled the saplings--and such saplings!--TREES many of them
were--while we, "all of a muck of sweat," dragged them into line. Dad
worked like a horse himself, and expected us to do the same. "Never
mind staring about you," he'd say, if he caught us looking at the sun
to see if it were coming dinner-time--"there's no time to lose if we
want to get the fence up and a crop in."

Dan worked nearly as hard as Dad until he dropped the butt-end of a
heavy sapling on his foot, which made him hop about on one leg and say
that he was sick and tired of the dashed fence. Then he argued with
Dad, and declared that it would be far better to put a wire-fence up at
once, and be done with it, instead of wasting time over a thing that
would only be burnt down again. "How long," he said, "will it take to
get the posts? Not a week," and he hit the ground disgustedly with a
piece of stick he had in his hand.

"Confound it!" Dad said, "have n't yo