hich even
then had begun to develop, added to his manly charm.

One day in late September as I was plowing in the field at the back of
the farm, I encountered a particularly troublesome thicket of weeds and
vines in the stubble, and decided to burn the way before the coulter. We
had been doing this ever since the frost had killed the vegetation but
always on lands after they had been safeguarded by strips of plowing. On
this particular land no fire had been set for the reason that four large
stacks of wheat still stood waiting the thresher. In my irritation and
self-confidence I decided to clear away the matted stubble on the same
strip though at some distance from the stacks. This seemed safe enough
at the time for the wind was blowing gently from the opposite direction.

It was a lovely golden day and as I stood watching the friendly flame
clearing the ground for me, I was filled with satisfaction. Suddenly I
observed that the line of red was moving steadily against the wind and
_toward_ the stacks. My satisfaction changed to alarm. The matted weeds
furnished a thick bed of fuel, and against the progress of the flame I
had nothing to offer. I could only hope that the thinning stubble would
permit me to trample it out. I tore at the ground in desperation, hoping
to make a bare spot which the flame could not leap. I trampled the fire
with my bare feet. I beat at it with my hat. I screamed for help.--Too
late I thought of my team and the plow with which I might have drawn a
furrow around the stacks. The flame touched the high-piled sheaves. It
ran lightly, beautifully up the sides--and as I stood watching it, I
thought, "It is all a dream. It can't be true."

But it was. In less than twenty minutes the towering piles had melted
into four glowing heaps of ashes. Four hundred dollars had gone up in
that blaze.

Slowly, painfully I hobbled to the plow and drove my team to the house.
Although badly burned, my mental suffering was so much greater that I
felt only part of it.--Leaving the horses at the well I hobbled into the
house to my mother. She, I knew, would sympathize with me and shield me
from the just wrath of my father who was away, but was due to return in
an hour or two.

Mother received me in silence, bandaged my feet and put me to bed where
I lay in shame and terror.

At last I heard father come in. He questioned, mother's voice replied.
He remained ominously silent. She went on quietly but with an eloquenc