"That poor cripple! They can't get away, he and his
grandmother. Perhaps Toby hasn't come home yet "
"And the wind's that way," Tom interrupted.
It was indeed. The storm had come up from the west and the wind
was still blowing almost directly into the east. A sheet of
flame flew from the top of the old dead tree even as the boy
spoke, and was carried toward the thick forest. It did not reach
it, and as the blazing brand fell it was quenched on the wet
surface of the sawdust.
Nevertheless, the fire was spreading under the crust and soon the
few other dead trees left standing on the tract would burst into
flame. As they looked, the fire burst out at the foot of the
tree and began to send long tongues of flame licking up the
shredded bark.
The effect of the drenching rain would soon be gone and the fire
would secure great headway.
"Those poor folks are right in the track of the fire, I allow,"
admitted Tom. "I wonder if he's got a good wide fire strip
ploughed?"
"Oh! I know what you mean," Nan cried. "You mean all around the
edge of his farm where it meets the woods?"
"Yes. A ploughed strip may save his buildings. Fire can't
easily cross ploughed ground. Only, if these woods get really
ablaze, the fire will jump half a mile!"
"Oh no, Tom! You don't mean that?"
"Yes, I do," said her cousin, gloomily.
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