they would know I didn't belong where they belonged and
might leave me out. Do you think that would happen, Jim?"

"Certainly not," Jim declared. "Girls of your type don't get left out.
I dare say pretty girls are numerous, but you have a calm and a
confidence that make their mark."

Carrie smiled, but there was some color in her face. "I suppose you
mean to be nice. Yet you have seen me serving at the store and cooking
for the boys!"

"I've seen you nursing me when I was ill and hope I'm going to see you
wear the smartest clothes money can buy. But there's much to be done
first and I'm bothered about the fire."

They pushed on while the smell of burning got stronger, and presently
came to a rocky hill. Its top cut off their view, but a dingy cloud
rolled up behind it and as they climbed the air got hot. When they
reached the summit Carrie gasped and her eyes opened wide.

The spur commanded the valley and the fire that had run through the
woods below. In the foreground a wall of tossing flame threw out
clouds of sparks, and leaping up here and there, ran in yellow trails
to the top of the tall firs. It advanced slowly, with an angry roar,
licking up the dry brush and branches before the big trunks caught. In
front they were hung with streamers of flame, farther off they glowed
red, and in the distance smoldering rampikes towered above a wide belt
of ash. Now and then one leaned and fell, and showers of sparks shot
up as if the log had exploded.

The shock of the fall hardly pierced the confused uproar, and Carrie,
shielding her scorched face with her hand, was appalled by the din.
Green wood split with detonating cracks, the snapping of branches was
like musketry, and the flames roared in a deep undertone. Her dress
fluttered, for eddying draughts swept the rocks. She was dazzled but
fascinated, unconscious of heat and fear, for she had not seen or
imagined a spectacle like this.

"It's tremendous!" she said in an awed voice.

"Pretty fierce," Jim agreed. "A bush-fire's a big thing, but it
doesn't grip you like the break up of the ice. When the river bursts
the jam, the floes grind the rocks smooth and rub out the pines. You
can hear the wreck drive down the channel a day's journey off."

"I thought it a silent country. It's often so quiet it makes one
half-afraid."

Jim nodded. "Something forbidding in its quietness that's like a
threat? Well, it wakes up and gets busy in a dramatic way