CHAPTER XVI.
The Morris farm, as has been said, was a pretty large one, and the same tendency on the part of the owners which had made them set up so very extensive and barn-like a house, had led them, from time to time, to provide the most liberal sort of storage for their crops. The first barn they had ever built, which was now the oldest and the furthest from the stables and the residence, was a pretty large one. It was now in a somewhat dilapidated condition, to be sure, and bowed a little northerly by the weight of years which rested on it, but it had still some hope of future usefulness, if it had not been for that tramp and his box of matches.
"There isn't a bit of use in trying to save it," exclaimed Ham, as they were whirled in through the wide gate. "It's gone."
"But," said Mrs. Kinzer, "we can save the other barns, perhaps. Look at the cinders on the long stable. If we could only keep them off somehow."
"We can do it, Ham!" exclaimed Dab, very earnestly. "Mother, will you send me out a broom and a rope, while Ham and I set up the ladder?"
"You're the boy for me," said Ham. "I guess I know what you're up to."
The ladder was one the house painters had been using, and was a pretty heavy one, but it was quickly set up against the largest and most valuable of the barns, and the one, too, which was nearest and most exposed to the burning building and its flying cinders. The rope was on hand, and the broom, by the time the ladder was in position.
"Ford," said Dab, "you and Frank help the girls bring water till the men from the village get here. There's plenty of pails. Now, Ham, I'm ready."
Up they went, and were quickly astride the ridge of the roof. It would have been perilous work for any man to have ventured further unassisted, but Dab tied one end of the rope firmly around his waist, Ham Morris tied himself to the other, and then Dab could slip down the steep roof in any direction without fear of falling.
But the broom? As useful as a small engine. The flying cinders, burning hay or wood, as they alighted on the sun-dried shingles of the roof, needed to be swept off as rapidly as they fell. Here and there the flames had so good a start that the broom alone would have been insufficient, and there the fast-arriving pails of water came into capital play. They had to be used economically, of course, but they did the work as effectually as if they had been the streams of a steam fire-engine. Hard work for Ham and Dab, and now and then the strength and weight and agility of the former were put to pretty severe tests, as Dab danced around under the scorching heat or slipped flat upon the sloping roof.
There were scores and scores of people from the village, now, arriving every moment, and Mrs. Kinzer had all she could do to keep them from "rescuing" every atom of her furniture from the house and piling it up in the road.
"Wait," she said, quietly. "If Ham and Dab save the long barn, the fire wont spread any further. The old barn wont be any loss to speak of, anyhow."
Fiercely as the dry old barn burned, it used itself up all the quicker on that account, and it was less than thirty minutes from the time Ham and Dabney got at work before roof and rafters fell in and the worst of the danger was over. The men and boys from the village were eager enough to do any thing that now remained to be done, but a large share of this was confined to standing around and watching the "bonfire" burn down to a harmless heap of badly smelling ashes. As soon, however, as they were no more wanted on the roof, the two volunteer "firemen" came down, and Ham Morris's first word on reaching the ground was:
"Dab, my boy, how you've grown!"
Not a tenth of an inch, in mere stature, and yet Ham was correct about it. There was plenty of light, just then, moon or no moon, and Ham's eyes were very busy for a minute. He noted the improvements in the fences, sheds, barns, the blinds on the house, the paint, a host of small things that had changed for the better, and then he simply said: "Come on, Dab," and led the way into the house. Her mother and sisters had already given Miranda a hurried look at what they had done, but Ham was not the man to do anything in haste. Deliberately and silently he walked from room to room and from cellar to garret, hardly seeming to hear the frequent comments of his enthusiastic young wife. That he did hear, however, was manifest, for at last he asked:
"Dab, I've seen all the other rooms, where's yours?"
"I'm going to let you and Miranda have my room," said Dab. "I don't think I shall board here long."
"I don't think you will, either," said Ham, emphatically. "You're going away to boarding-school. Miranda, is there any reason why Dabney can't have the south-west room, upstairs, with the bay-window?"
That room had been Samantha's choice, and she looked at Dab reproachfully, but Miranda replied:
"No, indeed; not if you wish him to have it."
"Now, Ham," said Dabney, "I'm not big enough to fit that room. Give me one nearer my size. That's a little loose for even Sam, and she can't take any tucks in it!"
Samantha's look changed to one of gratitude, and she did not notice the detested nickname.
"Well, then," said Ham, "we'll see about it. You can sleep in the spare chamber to-night. Mother Kinzer, I couldn't say enough about this house business if I talked all night. It must have cost you a deal of money. I couldn't have dared to ask it. I guess you'd better kiss me again."
Curious thing it was that came next. One that nobody could have reckoned on. Mrs. Kinzer—good soul—had set her heart on having Ham's house and Miranda's "ready for them" on their return, and now Ham seemed to be so pleased about it she actually began to cry. She said, too: "I'm so sorry about the barn!" But Ham only laughed in his quiet way as he kissed his portly mother-in-law, and said:
"Come, mother Kinzer, you didn't set it afire. Can't Miranda and I have some supper? Dab must be hungry, after all that roof-sweeping."
There had been a sharp strain on the nerves of all of them that day and evening, and they were glad enough to gather around the tea-table, while what was left of the old barn smoldered away, with the village boys on guard. Once or twice Ham or Dab went out to make sure all was right, but there was no danger, unless a high wind should come.
By this time the whole village was aware of Dabney's adventure with the tramp, and it was well for that individual that he had walked fast and far before suspicion settled on him, for men went out to seek for him on foot and on horseback.
"He's a splendid fellow, anyway."
Odd, was it not, but Annie Foster and Jenny Walters were half a mile apart when they both said that very thing, just before the clock in the village church hammered out the news that it was ten and bed-time. They were not speaking of the tramp.
It was long after that, however, before the lights were out in all the rooms of the Morris mansion.