Dick ran out, and down past the old Priory ruins, to where a cluster of cottages, half-way to Hickathrift’s, were occupied by the people who worked upon the farm; and, distant as the fire was, he could yet see the ruddy glow upon the water before him.
Half-way there, he heard a shout:
“Who’s there!”
It was in a big bluff voice, which Dick recognised at once.
“That you, Hicky? Fire! fire!”
“Ay, my lad, I was coming to rouse up the folk. You go that end, I’ll do this. Hey! Fire! Fire!”
He battered cottage door after cottage door, Dick following his example, with the result that in their alarm the people came hurrying out like bees whose hive has been disturbed by a heavy blow.
There was no need to ask questions. Every man, while the women began to wail and cry, started for the Tallingtons’ farm; but they were brought up by a shout from the squire.
“What are you going to do, men?” he cried.
“The fire!”—“help!”—“water!”—rose in a confused babble.