"I s'pose you're going to talk to me now," said Thomas awkwardly, after they had turned the corner from which the last view of the comfortable red farmhouse could be seen, "and give me a piece of your mind for leaving them chaps and disobeying master. You've a good right, I'm sure, being as you're getting me out o' the scrape." "I ain't one to do preachin' to other folks," said the farmer shortly. "I have enough to do to take care o' my own sins." Thomas stared in amazement into the tough, leathery face. That any one who could claim the least right, should let slip to "give it to" another man caught in a peccadillo, he could not understand, and he took the only way to find relief that came to his mind. When he finished scratching his head in a perplexed way, he relapsed into silence that was not broken till at least half the distance to Sachem Hill was traversed. Then the old farmer began to converse, but on general topics, and in such a cheery way, that his travelling companion came a bit out of his shamefaced despondency feeling as if there might be a chance even for him in the world once more. By the time that Jack jingled them into the vicinity of Mr. Bangs' summer cottage, the two were in such a good state of mind that any one meeting them would have said it was only a pleasure excursion that drew them out to enjoy the night. And now Thomas sat erect and drew his breath fast, while his eyes, strained to their utmost, pierced the gathering darkness for the first glimpse of the house. "Turn here up this lane, master," he begged suddenly, "it's a short cut," and the old farmer lashed Jack, all the time begging the astonished animal's pardon, while he hurried up the back way as directed. "Good--oh!" groaned Thomas, pulling his arm, and pointing with a shaking hand. Farmer Bassett more intent on the feelings of the faithful horse, and on getting on, had not glanced up. At this cry of distress he did, and now saw with Thomas a bright light gleaming from one of the upper windows of the Bangs' cottage. "It's FIRE!" said Thomas hoarsely, plucking him by the arm again. "We must 'a' left somethin' smoulderin' in the fire-place"-- "Nonsense," said the farmer reassuringly. Nevertheless he gave Jack another cut that made him jounce at a fearful rate up to the back veranda. Thomas leaped out and sped up the steps. Farmer Bassett tarried only long enough to fasten Jack to the hitching-post, throw his blanket over him, and give one pat on his head, then followed. "_Boys!_" screamed Thomas, racing up and down the veranda, and shaking the doors, "are you in there?" But only the branches of the trees creaked in the cold wind for answer. Thomas stamped in very fury. "See here," said the old farmer, down on the ground and pointing up, "look at their heads. They're all safe an' sound, an' not half as cold as you an' I."