m; the water hissing upon the hot straw
and hay, sending up clouds of steam, tinged to a fiery pallor against
the moonlit night. The walls, not only of the rickyard, but of the
surrounding fields were warm to the touch, for the dry furze growing
along them had caught fire from the blowing sparks, so that at one time
the fields had been outlined with fire. Now the furze had smouldered
and died, but the smooth granite slabs were still hot to the hand, an
unnatural warmth that seemed malign in those dewy fields.

Now the ricks burnt less and less fiercely; Ishmael gave a hand with the
other helpers, but there was really nothing to be done. Luckily, as it
was still warm weather, the livestock had all been out in the fields, so
there had been no panic even when one end of the cowshed caught fire.
That had been put out and the walls of the barns and out-buildings
drenched again and again, and everyone was trying to comfort Johnny
Angwin with pointing out how much worse it might have been.

Leaning over the low warm wall between the ricks and the next field,
Ishmael recognised a couple of the artists who of late years had settled
in those parts, and he caught their comments along with those of their
neighbours.

"What a glorious sight!" said one of them, with a deep-drawn breath;
"I've never seen anything to touch it...." A couple of farmers' wives
standing by peered curiously at the speaker and his companion. "Simme
them folk must be lacken' their senses," said one to the other, "carlen'
a sight like this bewtiful! Lacken' their senses, sure 'nough!"

Ishmael smiled to himself, and in his mind agreed with both. "I wonder
how it happened?" piped up another artist, anxious to remove a false
impression of callousness. Ishmael explained that spontaneous combustion
was probably the cause of the fire, and a farmer standing near
volunteered his opinion that Angwin had packed his hay damp. Everyone
stood a while longer, staring; the glow had gone from the smouldering
ricks, and the excitement of the event began to die in the minds of the
onlookers. The artist straightened himself and prepared to go. "They're
out now," he said, half-regretfully, half-cheerfully. The farmer near
him spoke again. "Them ricks won't be out for days and nights," he
said; "they'll go on burning in their hearts. They'm naught but a body
o' fire, that's what they are ... a body o' fire...."

Ishmael stayed to see Angwin and do what he could to help; then