In a small cottage, near the end of the village street, a lad, hearing the midnight alarm, got up and hurried to the window. He could make out the short, stocky form of Constable Stickler rushing about. Then, off to the left, he could see a dull glow in the sky. There was, also, the smell of wood burning.
"What is it, Herbert?" asked a woman's voice from another room.
"Fire, mother," replied Herbert Dare. "Mr. Stickler is giving the alarm."
"Whose place is it? I hope it isn't around here. Oh! fire is a dreadful thing! Where is it, Herbert?" And Mrs. Dare put on a dressing-gown and came into her son's room.
"I think he said it was Mr. Stimson's barn, mother. I can see a blaze over in that direction."
"Mr. Stimson's barn? He has a fine lot of cattle in it. Oh, I hope they save the poor creatures!"
Herbert, or, as he was usually called by his chums, Bert, grabbed up his clothes from a chair, and began to sort them in the darkness, looking for his trousers.
"What are you doing, Herbert?" asked his mother.
"I'm going to dress."
"What for?"