“Looks so, certainly. Hello! There’s someone coming from the house!”
Even as he spoke, an old woman appeared in the doorway and came forth, shading her eyes with one hand and blinking anxiously around her. Catching sight of the two youths as they ran toward her, she called out:
“Fer th’ land’s sake! More o’ yer! Boys, is it true there’s a fire broke out on ther mountain? Two boys an’ a wild-lookin’ man come along here, ’bout half an hour ago, yellin’ like demons from ther pit, and they scart me an’ my ol’ man out o’ our senses!”
“They told the truth, ma’am,” said Spike, with breathless politeness.
“But don’t be alarmed,” Hugh added reassuringly. “It may not be a very dangerous fire, and we’ve sent for help from Oakvale. Are you alone here? I mean, is there anyone who——?”
“Nary a soul but me and Jake,” returned the old woman. “Jake Walsh is my husband; he’s laid up in bed with the rheumatiz,” she added, by way of explanation, “an’ our son Tom’s gone to town with the calves.”
“Are there any cattle in the barn?” inquired Hugh.
“The ol’ bay-mare—but ye can’t call her cattle,” was the answer. “Ther cows is all in that meadow, yonder. But ther barn’s full o’ hay!”
In a flash, both boys thought of the destruction that wind-driven sparks might create, if they should chance to light upon that dry old barn.
“Oh, what’ll I do? What’ll I do?” wailed the poor woman, wringing her hands as she began to realize the seriousness of the situation. “I never dreamed as there’d be any danger o’ fire in the woods this summer, though Tom has often ernough spoke o’ folks’ carelessness a-lightin’ fires an’ leavin’ ’em lay. I can’t leave Jake! I can’t get away from here with him not able ter walk! An’ Tom’s took ther only wagon we have! Oh, what——?”
“We’ll help you, Mrs. Walsh,” declared Hugh. “Besides, the village fire-brigade will be here soon.
“Spike, you’d better climb up that windmill, and see if you can communicate with the village,” he added, and Welling hastened to obey.
“I can see the engine-house,” Spike called down, a few minutes later. “There’s a little tower on it, and someone is up in the tower, waving a flag. It’s Don Miller; I can tell by the way he jerks the flag. He’s sending: ‘We get your message now—fire brigade rushed to farm—close by—do your best.’”