Nan ran to them to relate their adventures,
while Toby got out the plow and Tom hitched his big horses to it.
The farm was not fenced, for the road and forest bounded it
completely. Tom put the plow in at the edge of the wood and
turned his furrows toward it, urging the horses into a trot. It
was not that the fire was near; but the hour was growing late and
Tom knew that his mother and father would be vastly anxious about
Nan.
The young fellow made twelve laps, turning twelve broad furrows
that surely would guard the farm against any ordinary fire. But
by the time he was done it did not look as though the fire in the
sawdust would spread far. The clouds were closing up once more
and it was again raining, gently but with an insistence that
promised a night of downpour, at least.
Old Mrs. Vanderwiller had made supper, and insisted upon their
eating before starting for Pine Camp. And Tom, at least, did his
share with knife and fork, while his horses ate their measure of
corn in the paddock. It was dark as pitch when they started for
home, but Tom was cheerful and sure of his way, so Nan was
ashamed to admit that she was frightened.
"Tell yer dad I'll be over ter Pine Camp ter see him 'fore many
days," Old Toby jerked out, as they were starting.
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