The fire had gained too much headway to leave the slightest possibility of saving the barn. The farmer, with the help of the Watermelon, Bartlett and the general, had barely time to lead out the horses and turn the cows into a temporary shelter. When that was done there was nothing more that could be done but to watch the walls crumble and the roof fall in a shower of sparks and a roar of flames, leaping and dancing in a mad riot of destruction. All night the fire burned and all night the four men and the three women turned their efforts to protect the house. The general, by right and instinct, took command. He formed a bucket brigade, stationing the Watermelon on the roof, at one end of the line, and the girls and the farmer’s wife at the well to fill the buckets at the other end of the line. They worked hard and quietly, as people work when face to face with the grim forces of nature. Under the general’s able management the few sparks which did threaten were quickly extinguished and save for a slight scorching here and there the house was safe. In the excitement no one but the general thought of the general’s car. The cold, gray streaks of dawn found them worn out, excited and hungry. Unable to console the farmer and his wife, the five drew in a semicircle around the smoldering heap which had been the barn, and forlornly watched the last tiny flames licking around the twisted, blackened ruin that had once been a motor-car. "Gone," said the general sadly. And Billy sniffed. "Better Alphonse had taken it," lamented Henrietta. "What shall we do now?" asked Bartlett. It was Saturday and Batchelor would not be able to reach New York now no matter what happened. He had won, the ring was safe, but he turned sadly to the general, and laid his hand kindly on his old friend’s shoulder. "Hard luck, man," said he. "Hard luck." "We will have to go home," said Henrietta dully. "We have no money," replied the general quietly, unmoved by his penniless condition, thinking only of the motor-car that was no more. "I have a little," said Henrietta. "About six dollars." "We owe at least all of that here for supper and rooms," said Bartlett. Henrietta glanced from one to the other, then laughed, a gay little bubble of mirth. They had no money, but what did that matter? What did anything matter when one loved and is loved? She felt guilty because she was not sorrier over the loss of the car, and she patted the general lovingly on the shoulder. "Cheer up, daddy, we haven’t a cent, none of us," she crooned. "We can telegraph," suggested Billy. "From where?" asked Bartlett shortly. "Why, we can drive somewhere where we can," returned Billy desperately, under her father’s calm scrutiny of amusement. "Drive what?" asked Bartlett. "A horse," said Henrietta mildly. "What horse?" questioned Bartlett. "There are two. The farmer wants them both to help clear up and to go to a neighbor’s for assistance. What shall we drive?"