“We’ve been fortunate, this spring, not to have any started on this side,” Lissa says. “Yes, with as much tall, dry grass as there is about. We don’t generally have any fear of fires at this time of year. It’s the fall when they rage worst. The spring burning is unusual,” continues Nathan in his measured speech. “But I suppose some one thought he’d burn off his piece of ground before plowing, and was careless about it, as we were once upon a time. His plowed strip may have been too narrow, or the wind too high.” “Oh, one cannot be too careful!” Lissa says with feeling. “I think what a close call we had when you let me fire the ten-acre lot by the canon, and all because the sod was not quite overturned on that rocky place at one corner.” “Yes, but I reckon it was a good thing to happen. You wouldn’t have known how to fight a fire if we had not had that experience. Now if one should start up you would know what to do.” “Yes,” she says reflectively. The meal ended, Nathan goes again to his work, which is now upon the upper end of the farm, nearly two miles from the house, and Lissa, when the dinner-work is over, sits down to rock her baby to sleep. The smoke has become quite dense by this time, and as she looks out across the river she sees leaping spires of orange-colored flames amidst the lifting, rolling clouds of smoke. “Ah, baby Lucy, we are fortunate not to be over there,” she says, and clasps the little one more closely while she croons a lullaby. Suddenly she is attracted by the strange actions of the family cat, which has been stretched out upon a rug across the room. Puss darts across the floor to the window, and placing her forepaws upon the window-seat, looks out. Then with a look of terror she runs to Lissa, and crouching at her feet begins to mew piteously. “What is it, Menkin?” asks Lissa, putting down her hand to stroke the creature’s back. The cat darts again to the window, and Lissa, following her, sees that which blanches her face and lips to chalky whiteness. The fire has crossed the river! The wind has carried the burning cinders even to the nearer bank, and now, only three-quarters of a mile away, she can see the curling smoke, and tongues of red fire lapping the dry grass. Frantic with alarm, her thoughts work rapidly. She drops her baby into the basket and rushes out to the well, which, with its buckets, stands near the house.