Dick o' the Fens Part 28

d.i.c.k staggered away, and nearly fell from the tremendous thrust given to him by the big wheelwright, and as he regained his equilibrium, it was to see Hickathrift with something flashing in his hand, making for the other end of the stable, which was as yet untouched.

A few blows from the axe he carried made the rough mud wall collapse, and, without a moment's hesitation Hickathrift forced his way through the hole he had broken, and from which a great volume of smoke began to curl.

d.i.c.k would have followed; but Tom clung to his arm, and before he could get free, during what seemed to be a terribly long period of suspense, the wheelwright appeared again, and staggered out, bearing the insensible body of the squire.

For a few minutes there was a terrible silence, and Hickathrift tottered from the man he had left where he had dragged him on the ground.

For the wheelwright was blinded and half strangled by the smoke, and reeled like a drunken man.

He recovered though, directly, and seized a bucket of water from one of the men. With this he liberally dashed the squire's face, as d.i.c.k knelt beside him in speechless agony, and grasped his hand.

For a few minutes there was no sign. Then the prostrate man uttered a low sigh, and opened his eyes.

"d.i.c.k!" he said, as he struggled up.

"Yes, father. Are you much hurt?"

"No, only--nearly--suffocated, my boy; but--but--Oh, I remember! The horses?"

"They're safe, neighbour," cried Farmer Tallington, taking his hand.

"Mind the knife!" cried the squire. "I remember now. I was obliged to be very brutal to them to make them stir."

He looked down at the small blade of the pocket-knife he held, closed it with a snap, and then stared about him at the people in a vacant confused way.

Several of the men, led by Hickathrift, began to carry pails of water to the burning stable, and this building being so low, they were not long in extinguishing the flames.

Hardly had they succeeded in this before the shrieks of the women gathered together in a low shed drew their attention to the fact that the roof of the house was once more blazing, and this seemed to rouse the squire again to action, for, in spite of Hickathrift wanting to take his place, he insisted upon re-climbing the ladder when the buckets of water were once more pa.s.sed along till all further danger had ceased, and the farm-house escaped with one room seriously damaged and one side of the thatched roof burned away.

The men still plied the buckets on the burning stacks, but only with the idea of keeping the flames within bounds, for there was nothing else to be done. One rick was completely destroyed; the others were fiery cores, which glowed in the darkness, and at every puff of wind sent up a cloud of glittering, golden sparks, whose course had to be watched lest a fresh fire should be started.

And now the excitement and confusion died out as the fire sank lower.

The women returned to the house, and the men, under the farmer's direction, carried back the household treasures, while Mrs Tallington, with the common sense of an old-fashioned farmer's wife, spread a good breakfast in the kitchen for the refreshment of all.

It was a desolate scene at daybreak upon which all gazed. The half-burned roof of the farm-house, the three smoking heaps where the three stacks had stood, and the stable roofless and blackened, while the place all about the house was muddy with the water and trampling.

"Yes," said Farmer Tallington ruefully, "it'll tak' some time to set all this straight; but I've got my house safe, so mustn't complain."

"Yes; might have been worse," said the squire quietly.

"Ay, neighbour, I began to think at one time," said Farmer Tallington, "that it was going to be very much worse, and that I was going to have to bear sad news across to the Toft; but we're spared that, squire, and I'm truly thankful. Feel better?"

"Better! oh yes, I am not hurt!"

Just then d.i.c.k asked a question:

"I say, Mr Tallington, wasn't it strange that you didn't know of the fire till I came?"

"I suppose we were all too soundly asleep, my lad. Lucky you saw it, or we might have been burned to death."

"But how did the place catch fire?"

"Ah!" said Farmer Tallington, "that's just what I should like to know.-- Were you out there last night, Tom?" he added after a pause.

"No, father, I wasn't near the stacks yesterday."

"Had you been round there at all?" said the squire.

"No, not for a day or two, neighbour. It's a puzzler."

"It is very strange!" said the squire thoughtfully; and he and Farmer Tallington looked hard at each other. "You have had no quarrel with your men?"

"Quarrel! No. Got as good labourers as a man could wish for. So have you."

"Yes, I have," said the squire; "but those stacks could not catch fire by accident. Has anybody threatened you?"

"No," replied the farmer thoughtfully. "No! Say, neighbour--no, they wouldn't do that."

The wheelwright had come up, and stood listening to what was said.

"What do you mean?" said the squire.

"Oh! nothing. 'Tisn't fair to think such things."

"Never mind! Speak out, man, speak out!"

"Well, I was wondering whether some one had done this, just as a hint that we were giving offence by joining in the drain business."

"No, no!" cried the squire indignantly. "People may grumble and be dissatisfied; but, thank Heaven, we haven't any one in these parts bad enough to do such a thing as that, eh, Hickathrift?"

"I dunno 'bout bad enew," said the big wheelwright; "but strikes me Farmer Tallington's right. That stack couldn't set itself afire, and get bont up wi'out some one striking a light!"

"No, no!" said the squire. "I will not think such a thing of any neighbour for twenty miles round. Now, Mr Tallington, come over to my place and have a comfortable meal; Mrs Tallington will come too."

"Nay, we'll stop and try to put things right."

"Shall I lend you a couple of men?"

"Nay, we'll wuck it oot oursens, and thank you all hearty for what you've done. If your farm gets alight, neighbour, we'll come over as you have to us."

"May the demand never arise!" said the squire to himself, as he and his party trudged away, all looking as blackened and disreputable a set as ever walked homeward on an early winter's morn.

d.i.c.k had made a good meal, and removed the black from his face after deciding that it would not be worth while to go to bed, when, as he went down the yard and caught sight of Solomon, he stopped to stare at the cunning animal, who seemed to be working about his ears like semaph.o.r.es.

"I've a good mind to make him take me for a long ride!" said d.i.c.k to himself. "No, I haven't. Somehow a lad doesn't care for riding a donkey when he gets as old as I am."

He walked away, feeling stiff, chilly, and uncomfortable from the effects of his previous night's work, while his eyes smarted and ached.

"I'll go over and see how old Tom's getting on," he said as he looked across the cheerless fen in the direction of Grimsey, where a faint line of smoke rose up toward the sky. "Wonder who did it!"