“At last they could go no farther. The fire had outrun them: it was before, beside, behind,--it left no pathway anywhere. The mother did not give up. She stopped the horse, crowded the little ones under the wagon, hung blankets over the sides to keep off the heat, and sitting in the midst, the baby in her lap, waited her fate.
“The courage of that woman,” said August, clearing his throat, “I never saw equalled. It wasn’t in my power to help her much. Fire is a bad master, people say; and I was beginning to find it true. It mastered me. But one thing I did: I stood by the horse’s head, and held him tight so that he could not stir, even when the fiery rain fell fast and singed his hair. It was the only chance for the poor children. And, being there, of course I could see all that went on under the wagon.
“They were wonderfully patient. ‘Mother, are we going to burn up?’ I heard one child say. But the poor mother did not answer, she only gave a sob. None of them cried or screamed; but they just sat cuddled up together, and were very quiet. Once the smallest one asked for a drink of water! I declare, that made me feel bad!
“Just then I heard a sound above the roar of the flames which caused me to prick up my ears; for I knew its meaning, and I said, ‘Ah, ha! Master Spark, look out for yourself!’ And pretty soon a drop fell on my nose. It felt like ice, I was so hot. And next the flames began to hiss and spit, for more drops were falling; and then they made a great swoop at the wagon, but I was beforehand with them there.
“‘Hands off!’ I said, and the rain chuckled as it heard me. The fire raged; but it was no use. Guggle, guggle, spit, spit,--the blessed shower continued to fall; and at last its roar was louder than the flames had ever been. The spark had met its match.
“Ah! what a glad sound that was to the group under the wagon! The children laughed for joy. They crept out to catch the cool flood upon their parched limbs. But the mother did not stir. Her face was hidden in her hands. I think she was praying.
“Hours and hours did the rain continue. It fought the fire as mortal foes fight, it wrestled and beat it down, and tore and trampled it under foot. But to the last the eye of the little spark gleamed red and vengeful, and only when it was cold in death did its fury go out. Water had won the day.”