“It does beat all,” he admitted to Hiram, “what that boy has learned already about practical things. Book-farming ain't all flapdoodle, that's sure!”
So the year ended—quietly, peacefully, and with no little happiness in the Atterson farmhouse, despite the cloud that overshadowed the farm-title, and the doubts which faced them about the next season's work.
They sat up on New Year's eve to see the old year out and the new in, and had a merry evening although there were only the family. When the distant whistles blew at midnight they went out upon the back porch to listen.
It was a dark night, for thick clouds shrouded the stars. Only the unbroken coverlet of snow (it had fallen that morning) aided them to see about the empty fields.
In the far distance was the twinkle of a single light—that in an upper chamber of the Pollock house. Dickersons' was mantled in shadow, and those two houses were the only ones in sight of the Atterson place.
“And I was afraid when we came out here that I'd be dead of loneliness in a month—with no near neighbors,” admitted Mother Atterson. “But I've been so busy that I ain't never minded it——
“What's that light, Hiram?”
Her cry was echoed by Sister. Behind the bam a sudden glow was spreading against the low-hung clouds. It was too far away for one of their out-buildings to be afire; but Hiram set off immediately, although he only had slippers on, for the corner of the barnyard fence.
When he reached this point he saw that one of the fodder stacks in the cornfield was afire. The whole top of the stack was ablaze.
“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” cried Sister, who had followed him. “What can we do?”