engine was brought out, and Barefoot climbed upon it and rode away
with the firemen.

"My Damie! My Damie!" she kept repeating to herself in great alarm. But
it was day-time, and in the day-time people could not be burned to
death in a fire. And sure enough, when they arrived at Hirlingen, the
house was already in ashes. Beside the road, in an orchard, stood Damie
in the act of tying two piebalds,--fine, handsome horses,--to a tree;
and oxen, bulls, and cows were all running about in confusion.

They stopped the engine to let Barefoot get off, and with a cry of "God
be praised that nothing has happened to you!" she hurried toward her
brother. Damie, however, made no reply, and stood with both hands
resting on the neck of one of the horses.

"What is it? Why don't you speak? Have you hurt yourself?"

"I have not hurt myself, but the fire has hurt me."

"What's the matter?"

"All I have is lost--all my clothes and my little bit of money! I've
nothing now but what's on my back."

"And are father's clothes burnt too?"

"Are they fireproof?" replied Damie, angrily. "Don't ask such stupid
questions!"

Barefoot was ready to cry at this ungracious reception by her brother;
but she quickly remembered, as if by intuition, that misfortune in its
first shock often makes people harsh, unkind, and quarrelsome. So she
merely said:

"Thank God that you have escaped with your life! Father's clothes--to be
sure, in those there's something lost that cannot be replaced--but
sooner or later they would have been worn out anyway."

"All your chattering will do no good," said Damie, still stroking the
horse. "Here I stand like a miserable outcast. If the horses here could
talk, they'd tell a different story. But I am born to misfortune--whatever
I do that's good, is of no use. And yet--" He could say no more; his voice
faltered.

"What has happened?"

"There are the horses, and the cows, and the oxen--not one of them was
burned. Look, that horse over there tore my shirt when I was dragging
him out of the stable. This nigh horse here did me no harm--he knows me.
Eh, Humple, you know me, don't you? We know each other, don't we?" The
horse laid his head across the neck of the other and stared at Damie,
who went on:

"And when I joyfully went to tell the farmer that I had saved all his
cattle, he said: 'You needn't have done it--they were all well insured,
and I would have been paid good money for them.' 'Yes,' thinks I to
mysel