"Light another torch and run, Chicken Little--there's no time to lose--we must chance it!" Chicken Little obeyed silently. Half way to the breaking she stumbled and fell. Her torch of twisted grass flew from her hand, scattering the burning fragments about her. Before she could get to her feet, the grass was ablaze all around. Quick-witted Sherm threw her a mop, then beat his way toward her. Marian, summoning her last remaining strength, ran to help, but sank to the ground in a faint before she could reach Jane. Sherm and Chicken Little, beating, stamping madly, did not see her fall. The flames fairly licked up the long grass. They beat them out around Jane only to see them spread in an ever-increasing circle. Chicken Little's legs gave way under her and she sank helplessly down, watching the rushing fire. Sherm struggled on with parched throat and stinging eyes, but he, too, was fast becoming exhausted in the unequal fight, when a strong pair of hands seized the mop from his straining arms and rained swift blows on the flaming grass. Answering blows resounded from four other stout pairs of hands and an irregular line of charred vegetation was soon all that was left to tell the tale of the danger they had escaped. "Thank God, we got here in time!" Captain Clarke ejaculated fervently, raising Marian's head and dashing water in her face to restore her. "We're so shut in by the timber at our place, I didn't dream the fire was in this part of the country till one of the hands went up in the pasture. We mounted and came double quick, I tell you. And we'd have got here quicker, if I'd known what straits you were in. You're a plucky lot! Easy there, Mrs. Morton, you are all right, and the fire is safe to smoke out at its leisure. Here, drink a drop of this whiskey." Sherm had gathered up Chicken Little and carried her beyond the smoke, then dropped down beside her with a sigh to recover his breath. He felt numb and so dazed he hardly heeded what the Captain was saying. "Pretty well done for, yourself, aren't you, lad?" one of the men inquired. "You sure knew exactly what to do, if you are a tenderfoot." Sherm roused himself enough to twist the corners of his mouth into his wonted smile. "Me? I didn't do anything--Chicken Little was the boss of this gang." CHAPTER XVII THE LOST OYSTER SUPPER Thanksgiving came and went its turkey-lined way rather lonesomely. Christmas preparations also lacked their usual zest. "Everything seems to have caved in round where Ernest was," Chicken Little confided to Marian. "You see, we always talked everything over and planned our Christmas together. Sherm takes Ernest's place in lots of ways, but, of course, he isn't interested in what I'm making for Mother, or in helping me make $5.25 go clear round the family and piece out for Katy and Gertie besides." "If sympathy is all you need, Jane, I can lend you a listening ear." Marian crocheted another scallop.