“Do you think it will?” she inquired, anxiously.
“If the wind does not change, it must before a great while,” he said, “although it will have to cross the road, which will backen it some.”
“Would it burn up the cabin, then?” she inquired.
“I am afraid it would,” he answered.
“Well,” said she, firmly, “I said I would go into that cabin in four weeks, and if it’s not burnt down, I shall keep my word. At any rate we shall be in season to see the fire!” Then she added, looking grave, “I do hope, if it is the Lord’s will, that the fire will be checked in time, my husband has toiled so hard.”
As the cart turned up the main street of the 140 town, she caught sight of the cabin that was to be her future home, and she saw her husband, too, at the same moment, for there he sat on the roof, gazing at the fire, which seemed to be dying out. He heard the rumbling of the wheels as they drew near, and as he caught sight of the picturesque-looking object approaching, he called out,–
“Why, what under the canopy have we here? Wife, and babies, and household effects! What does this mean? You are not going to emigrate farther west–are you?”
“If you’ll descend from your elevated position,” she replied, cheerily, “I’ll condescend to inform you. Now,” she added, “you know I told you, husband, I should move into the cabin to-day; and did you ever know me to break my word?”
“But,” said he, looking disconcerted, “I’m not ready for you yet; the floor isn’t half laid.”
“Well,” she replied, “I can’t stand it to have you sweating up here all alone at your task, running the risk of being devoured by the wolves, or losing your way at night because you think the cabin isn’t comfortable enough for me. Why, you are as particular about having everything done just so about this cabin, as you used to be, east, in having every word exactly in its place when you wrote your sermons. Please, now, just help Tom unload, and set these things in, and I’ll have tea 141 ready directly, and we’ll be where we can cheer you a bit. But what about this fire?”