“My dear child, and beloved sister, if you see yon flames sweeping down upon you, get hence to Little River, and stand in it midstream. I’m sure there isn’t one particle of danger. Just think of Astrid and Ingeborg coming back from the auction, and maybe finding their house just a pile of ashes.” Carlota stood apart from the rest, her dark eyes wide with surprise and apprehension. A forest fire to her meant a great devastating, irresistible force which swept over miles of acreage. Her father had told her, back in the old villa, of camping days in the Adirondacks, when he had been caught in the danger zone, and had fought fires side by side with the government rangers. She did not realize that down here in the little Quinnibaug Hills, a wood fire in the spring of the year was looked upon as a natural visitation, rather calculated to provide amusement and occupation to the boys and men, as well as twenty cents an hour to each and every one who fought it. Jean had left the telephone and was putting on her coat and hat. “Mother,” she asked, “do you mind if Carlota and I just walk up the wood road a little way? We won’t go near the fighting line where the men are at all, and I’d love to see it. Besides I thought perhaps we might work our way around through that big back wood lot to Cynthy’s place and see if Cousin Roxy is there. Then, we could drive back with them.” “Oh, can’t I go too?” asked Doris, eagerly. “I won’t be one bit in the way. Please say yes, Mother, please?” “I can’t, dear,” Mrs. Robbins patted her youngest, hurriedly. “Why, yes, Jean, I think it’s safe for you to both go. Don’t you, Jerry?” Mr. Robbins smiled at Jean’s flushed, excited face. It was so seldom the eldest robin lost her presence of mind, and really became excited. “I don’t think it will hurt them a bit,” he said. “Dorrie and Helen had better stay here though. They will probably be starting back fires, and you two girls will have all you can do, to take to your own heels, without looking out for the younger ones.” With a couple of golf capes thrown over their shoulders, the two girls started up the hill road for about three quarters of a mile. The church bell over at the Plains kept ringing steadily. At the top of the hill they came to the old wood road that formed a short cut over to the old Ames place. Here where the trees met overhead in an arcade the road was heavy with black mud, and they had to keep to the side up near the old rock walls. As they advanced farther there came a sound of driving wheels, and all at once Hedda’s mother appeared in her rickety wagon. She sat far forward on the seat, a man’s old felt hat jammed down over her heavy, flaxen hair, and an old overcoat with the collar upturned, thrown about her. Leaning forward with eager eyes, the reins slack on the horse’s back, giving him full leeway, she seemed to be thoroughly enthusiastic over this new excitement in Gilead.