With this the tramp turned away, crossed the little bridge, this time in safety, and hurried off across the fields, as he saw several of the boys coming down toward the brook.
"That's a queer tramp," thought Bert. "I wonder if I ever shall see him again?"
He was destined to, and under strange circumstances.
"Hello, Bert!" cried Cole, who was one of the group of boys. "What are you doing here? The fire's all out."
"I know it. I was gathering up the buckets. Guess we'd better get the engine back home—that's another thing we hadn't thought of. Where are we going to keep it?"
"My barn's a good place," replied Cole. "That will give me a chance to fix some of the pump valves. They didn't work just right to-night. Why—hello! You're all wet!" he added, as he came close to his chum, and saw that his clothes were dripping water.
"Yes-er-I-er-I got in the brook," replied Bert, not caring to tell about the tramp just yet.
"I should say you did get in. Some of the fellows must have left the buckets too close to the edge. But, come on, let's haul the engine back."
Most of the crowd had now dispersed, a few members of the bucket brigade lingering to further examine the engine, while some of them made slighting remarks about it. The boys paid no attention to them, but, taking hold of the long rope, pulled the machine through the main street of the village. The lads found their new fire department increased largely as they advanced, for not a youngster in town, whether or not he had before this taken an interest in the organization, but who was now glad to get hold of the rope and pull.
"Guess we could organize two companies with this crowd," remarked
Cole, looking at the throng.