"Where can they be?" he said, half aloud. "They may have gone over to see the cows milked by machinery. I'll go there next."
Just as he went out of the farther door of the sheep-shed he met two men coming in. One of the men was smoking, and as he entered the shed he threw away the short end of his cigar. It fell in the dry grass near a pile of straw.
In a minute West Wind came scurrying across the field, and it was not long before he found the lighted cigar.
"What are you doing down there in the grass?" said West Wind. "Why don't you burn and have a good smoke by yourself?"
The red tip of the cigar shone brighter at the words. "So I will," it said, and it sent up a thin curl of blue smoke.
"Pouf! pouf!" said West Wind. "Can't you do better than that?"
"Of course I can," and the stub burned still brighter.
"Now I'll show you a good smoke," said West Wind, and he blew some dry grass over the cigar.
The grass blazed up and set fire to the straw, and then there was some smoke,—you may be sure!
West Wind danced over the grass with glee. He whirled round and round, tossing fresh straw to the flames, and blowing up the smoke in soft clouds.