Then two lines of men and boys were formed, each person with a bucket in hand, the files leading to a small brook which ran near the barn. From one to another the buckets were passed, going down empty on one side and going along filled on the other. As fast as possible the pails were emptied into the tank.
The men at the handles or “brakes” as they were called were pumping away for dear life, and soon a feeble stream came from one hose nozzle.
“Hurrah!” cried the crowd, and half a score of willing hands grabbed the line and started toward the burning barn with it. A little later, the pump having gotten in its stride, so to speak, sent a stream from the other hose.
Again there was a shout of approval, and the two streams were soon playing on the flames. But the fire had gained too much headway to succumb to anything short of the efforts of a regular department. The blaze mounted higher and higher.
“The house is on fire! The house is on fire!” a score of voices yelled.
Sure enough, some sparks from the barn had fallen on the shingled roof of the residence and there were several tiny spurts of flame.
“Let the barn go, boys!” called the chief. “Let’s save the house.”
Willing hands dragged the clumsy machine nearer the residence while the men at the nozzles ran back, and prepared to squirt water on the roof. Once more the buckets passed along the line.
Clank! Clank! went the handles.