d her away, whispering
secretly.

All this time the fire was raging, but there were lots of men now to
work the well and the buckets, and the house and the barn had not
caught.

When we had got out all the furniture, some of the men set to work on
the barn, and, of course, Oswald and Dicky, though weary, were in this
also. They helped to get out all the wool--bundles and bundles and
bundles of it; but when it came to sacks of turnip seed and things, they
thought they had had enough, and they went to where the things were that
had come out of the larder, and they got a jug of milk and some bread
and cheese, and took it to the woman who was lying in the dry ditch on
the nice bed they had so kindly made for her. She drank some milk, and
asked them to have some, and they did, with bread and cheese (Dutch),
and jolly glad they were of it.

Just as we had finished we heard a shout, and there was the fire-engine
coming across the field.

I do like fire-engines. They are so smart and fierce, and look like
dragons ready to fight the devouring element.

It was no use, however, in spite of the beautiful costumes of the
firemen, because there was no water, except in the well, and not much
left of that.

The man named Honeysett had ridden off on an old boneshaker of his to
fetch the engines. He had left the key in the place where it was always
kept, only Eliza had not had the sense to look for it. He had left a
letter for her, too, written in red pencil on the back of a bill for a
mowing-machine. It said: 'Rix on fir'; going to git fir'-injins.'

Oswald treasures this letter still as a memento of happier days.

When Honeysett saw the line of men handing up buckets to throw on the
tarry wall, he said:

'That ain't no manner of use. Wind's changed a hour agone.'

And so it had. The flames were now reaching out the other way, and two
more ricks were on fire. But the tarry walls were quite cool, and very
wet, and the men who were throwing the water were very surprised to
find that they were standing in a great puddle.

And now, when everything in the house and the barn was safe, Oswald had
time to draw his breath and think, and to remember with despair exactly
who it was that had launched a devastating fire-balloon over the
peaceful marsh.

It was getting dusk by this time; but even the splendour of all those
burning ricks against the darkening sky was merely wormwood and gall to
Oswald's upright heart, and he jolly soon