Mr. Stagg went down to the store as usual. On the way he passed the Parlow place, and he saw the carpenter in his shop door. Parlow was gazing with seeming anxiety into the fog cloud, his face turned towards the forest. Joseph Stagg did not know that, in all the years of their estrangement, the carpenter had never been so near speaking to the hardware dealer. The smoky tang in the air was as strong in Sunrise Cove as out in the country. The shopkeepers were talking about the fire. News had come over the long-distance wires that thousands of acres of woodland were burning, that the forest reserves were out, and that the farmers of an entire township on the far side of the mountain were engaged in trying to make a barrier over which the flames would not leap. It was the consensus of opinion, however, that the fire would not cross the range. It never had on former occasions, and the wind was against such an advance. The top of the ridge was covered with boulders and the vegetation was scant. “Scarcely any chance of its swooping down on us,” decided Mr. Stagg. “Reckon I won’t have to go home to plough fire furrows.” At the usual hour he started for The Corners for dinner. Having remained in the store all the morning, he had not realised how much stronger the smell of smoke was than it had been at breakfast time. Quite involuntarily he quickened his pace. The fog and smoke overcast the sky thickly and made it of a brassy colour, just as though a huge copper pot had been overturned over the earth. Women stood at their doors, talking back and forth together in low tones. There was a spirit of expectancy in the air. Every person he saw was affected by it. There seemed scarcely any danger of a forest fire sweeping in upon Sunrise Cove, or even upon The Corners. There was too much cleared land surrounding the town. But what was happening on the other side of the mountain? The peril that other people were in moved his neighbours. Joseph Stagg was affected himself. And for another reason. Down in the thick woods, ten miles away, were two women and a child in a cabin. Suppose the fire _should_ cross the range? The hardware merchant was striding along at a quick pace when he came to the Parlow place; but he was not going so fast that he did not hear the carpenter hailing him in his cracked voice. “Hey, you, Joe Stagg! Hey, you!” Amazed, Mr. Stagg turned to look. Parlow was hobbling from the rear premises, groaning at every step, scarcely able to walk. “That sciatica’s got me ag’in,” he snarled. “I’m a’most doubled up. Couldn’t climb into a carriage to save my soul.” “What d’you want to climb into a carriage for?” demanded Mr. Stagg. “’Cause somebody’s got to go for that gal of mine—and little Car’lyn May. Ain’t you heard—or is your mind so sot on makin’ money down there to your store that you don’t know nothin’ else?” “Haven’t I heard what?” returned the other with fine restraint, for he saw the old man was in pain.