The dry sphagnum was readily cut through with the spade, and it was not a difficult, although a slow task, to dig a wide, shallow trench between the stretch of burning moss and the gardens. Once the ditch was complete, it would be easy to fight the fire on the home side, since there was nothing swift or fierce about the conflagration, it being rather a sullen, relentless smouldering of the moss and grass-roots, dry from the long drought. Zealously as the two labored, the fire gained upon them, and as they worked, they could not but cast despairing glances at the long stretch of garden which lay still unprotected. Meanwhile Columbine from her window had seen the laborers, and, in a moment realizing the danger, she flew to the library. "Father," she cried, "the salt marshes have been burning all day, and the fire is almost up to the garden." "Good heavens, Columbine, how impetuous you are! You have quite driven out of my head what became of the second son of--" "But, father," she interrupted, impatiently, "do you realize that if you sit here pothering about second sons the house may be burned over our heads?" "Burned!" exclaimed the genealogist, in dismay; "and all my papers scattered about! Oh, help me, Columbine, to pack up my notes; but don't take up anything without asking me where it goes. Do you think that iron-bound trunk will hold them all?" Fearing to trust herself to reply, Columbine darted from the library, leaving her father to the half-frenzied collection of his papers, and betook herself to the salt meadows, where, grimed with smoke, Tom and the old serving woman were sturdily laboring. The pungent smoke eddied about them, and already old Sarah's gown showed marks of having been on fire in a dozen places. Columbine stood upon the descending path a moment and regarded them; then, with a step which bespoke determination, she went on and joined them. "Go back!" shouted Tom, hoarsely, as she approached; "don't you see how the sparks are flying about? You'll be a-fire before you know it." And, indeed, the fire was becoming more active as it crept nearer to the edges of the meadows, where the grass was taller. The word of warning had hardly left Tom's lips before she found her dress burning, and while, being of wool, it was easily extinguished, Tom found in it an excuse for taking her in his arms to smother the flame. "Go back to the house," he said, in a voice which was full of feeling, yet which it would have been impossible to disobey. "We shall save the place; but I cannot work while you are in danger." "And you?" she demanded, clasping her hands upon his arm. "Nonsense! there is no danger for me," he returned, smiling tenderly. "Don't think of me."