Heavens! How long it seems ere, working desperately, hand over hand upon the rope, she can bring the filled bucket to the top of the curb. Then with a pail of water and a gunny-sack she flies across the fields to meet the oncoming fire. With supernatural strength, evolved from her terror, with the wet sacking she beats back the ravening flames madly, frantically, and with all the force of over-strained muscles and fear-nerved energy she fights the merciless element, until at last, blinded by smoke, and scorched and blackened, she turns toward the house, and flies with all the strength left her, her only hope now to get her baby and run with it to the only haven of safety, the black soil of the plowed land. Snatching her child from its pillow and folding it in her smoke-begrimed arms she dashes again through the doorway and runs on and on over the soft earth, until, with many yards of the moist, upturned sod about her, she pauses and turns her eyes backward toward her humble yet beloved home. With fascinated gaze she watches the flames creep nearer and nearer, now only like red snakes in the grass, then as the tall weeds catch, like sheets of scarlet, wound and twisted in smoke-clouds. The fire has parted at the place where her frenzied efforts have been most effective, and one part is sweeping down the side of the road opposite the house, the other around the barn-yard toward the stables. She can see the horses corralled beyond the barn, and anticipating their fate she hides her face in her child’s clothing and sobs. She is startled by hearing the sound of galloping horses and looks out to see a drove of frightened animals come madly down the road ahead of the flames. Will their instincts guide them toward a place of safety? A burning stack across the road is adding to the blinding smoke, and she can see through smarting eyes but a short distance around her. “O God! spare the poor creatures tied there and helpless,” she prays. “Oh, why didn’t I think to loose them?” She crouches down over her child and gives away to her grief. Suddenly she hears steps near her, and glancing up, the pink nose of Puss, her pony, is thrust into her hand. “O you dear creature, how did you get away?” she falters. Then as she perceives the dragging rope, yet fastened to the up-pulled stake, she knows what Puss in her fright has been able to accomplish. “We all have superhuman strength given us in our time of need,” she murmurs. She strains her eyes for a glimpse of the burning house, but the smoke is so painful she is fain to hide her face, while her faithful horse rubs its head against her as if to assure her of sympathy. “Lissa!” cries an anxious voice near her. “O Nate! Oh, our poor horses and our home! What shall we do?” “I am thankful _you_ are safe, Lissa. I feared you might not remember to come here soon enough. Keep your eyes covered and crouch down close to the ground. This smoke from that burning stack is overpowering.”