Part 22 (2/2)

The darkness of a moonless and somewhat cloudy night had settled over the village and its surrounding farms, long before the belated engine puffed its way in front of the station-platform.

Just at that moment, back there by the north fence, Ford Foster exclaimed,--

”What's that smell?”

”It's like burning hay, more than any thing else,” replied Frank.

”Where can it come from, I'd like to know? We haven't had a light out at our barn.”

”Light?” exclaimed Frank. ”Just look yonder!”

”Why, it's that old barn, 'way beyond the Morris and Kinzer house.

Somebody must have set it on fire. Hullo! I thought I saw a man running.

Come on, Frank!”

There was indeed a man running just then; but they did not see him, for he was already very nearly across the field, and hidden by the darkness.

He had known how to light a fire that would smoulder long enough for him to get away.

He was not running as well, nevertheless, as he might have done before he came under the operation of Dab Kinzer's ”lower joint.”

Mrs. Kinzer did her best to prevent any thing like a ”scene” at the railway-station when Ham and Miranda came out upon the platform; but there was an immense amount of ”welcome” expressed in words and hugs and kisses, in the shortest possible s.p.a.ce of time. There was no lingering on the platform, however; for Ham and his wife were as anxious to get at the ”surprise” they were told was waiting for them, as their friends were to have them come to it.

Before they were half way home, the growing light ahead of them attracted their attention; and then they began to hear the vigorous shouts of ”Fire!” from the throats of the two boys, re-enforced now by Mr. Foster himself, and the lawyer's voice was an uncommonly good one.

Dabney was driving the ponies, and they had to go pretty fast for the rest of that short run.

”Surprise?” exclaimed Ham. ”I should say it was! Did you light it before you started, Dabney?”

”Don't joke, Hamilton,” remarked Mrs. Kinzer. ”It may be a very serious affair for all of us. But I can't understand how in all the world that barn should have caught fire.”

”Guess it was set a-going,” said Dab.

CHAPTER XVI.

DAB KINZER AND HAM MORRIS TURN INTO A FIRE-DEPARTMENT.

The Morris farm, as has been said, was a pretty large one; and the same tendency on the part of its owners which led them to put up so extensive and barn-like a house, had stimulated them from time to time to make the most liberal provisions for the storage of their crops. Barns were a family weakness with them, as furniture had been with the Kinzers. The first barn they had put up, now the oldest and the farthest from the house, had been a large one. It was now in a somewhat dilapidated condition, to be sure, and was bowed a little northerly by the weight of years that rested on it; but it had still some hope of future usefulness if it had not been for that tramp and his box of matches.

”There isn't a bit of use in trying to save it!” exclaimed Ham, as they were whirled in through the wide-open gate. ”It's gone!”

”But, Ham,” said Mrs. Kinzer, ”we can save the other barns perhaps. Look at the cinders falling on the long stable. If we could keep them off somehow!”

”We can do it, Ham,” exclaimed Dab, very earnestly. ”Mother, will you send me out a broom and a rope, while Ham and I set up the ladder?”

<script>