how it licks around those stumps!" said Tom Binns. "It's
just as if they'd started a fire in a furnace or a big open fireplace."

"That's the wind," said Jack. "It's blowing pretty hard. I think the
danger will be pretty well over by tonight, for the time being, at
least. Unless I'm very much mistaken, there's rain coming behind that
wind."

"It's hard to tell," said Bob Hart, Patrol Leader of the Crows, waiting
with his branch for the time to beat out sparks. "The smoke darkens
the sky so that all weather signs fail. The sun glows red through it,
and you can't really tell, here, whether there are any rain clouds or
not. But it's a wet wind, certainly, and I guess you're right, Jack."

"I don't see how you can tell about the weather as well as you do,
Jack," said Pete Stubbs. "You never seem to be wrong, and since I've
known you, you've guessed better than the papers two or three times."

"I've lived in the woods nearly all my life, Pete. That's why I can
sometimes tell. I'm not always right, by a good deal, but the sky and
the trees and the birds are pretty good weather prophets as a rule. In
the country you have to be able to tell about the weather."

"That's right," said Bob Hart. "I've known farmers, when there was a
moon, to keep men working until after midnight to get the hay in, just
because they were sure there'd be a storm the next day. And they were
right, too, though everyone else laughed at them."

"It means an awful lot to a farmer to get his hay in before the rain
comes," said Jack. "It means the difference between a good year and a
bad year, often. Many a farm has been lost just because a crop like
that failed and the farmer couldn't pay a mortgage when he had expected
to."

"Well, if they're all as stupid as this fellow, they deserve to lose
their farms," said Bob Hart.

"Here he comes now, and he looks mad enough to shoot us!"

It was true. The irate farmer was coming, pitchfork in hand, with his
two sturdy sons and a couple of farm hands, who grinned as if they
neither knew nor cared what would happen, but were glad of a chance for
a little excitement.

"Who gave you leave to dig your ditch here?" he shouted. "This is my
land, I reckon. Be off with you now! And look at the fire you
started!"

Indignantly he made for Bob Hart with his pitchfork. He was worked up
to a regular fury, and it might have fared ill with the Patrol Leader
had it not been for Jack Danby's quick