"Is the dinner burned up?" demanded a youngster, with tears in his eyes.
"No, that's the queer part of it," replied the good housewife; "the fire didn't get into the kitchen at all. The dinner is cooking right along, and not hurt one little bit."
Frank looked surprised.
"How is that, Mr. Baxter?" he asked. "Did you have a fire in that wing?"
"Never. We only got up here three weeks ago, after selling out below, and buying this better farm. That wing has never been used. If the fire began in there——" and he looked at Frank with this unfinished sentence on his lips, as though he hardly dared give utterance to the suspicion it aroused.
"It must have been purposely started then. You know who I am, Mr. Baxter?" Frank went on, for he had been very much surprised to see the old farmer here, when he supposed he lived close to the border of Columbia, in fact not more than a mile from his own home.
"Yes, I recognized you in the start, Frank, and it was lucky for us you came. We were all sitting here and laughing at some antics of the youngsters, while waiting to be called to dinner, when smoke came into the room. Then we started to look it up, and found the fire in full swing."
"Is there any one you know who would want to see you burned out? Have you any enemies, Mr. Baxter?" the other went on, his curiosity aroused.
"Not that I know of. It may have been an accident. Perhaps there is a defective flue. We were having a fire in the grate for the first time in the sitting-room, you see. But all of you boys must stop a while with us, and help us eat the dinner that was saved. Ma will never hear of anything else, you may be sure," and the old man gripped Frank's hand again energetically.
"Thanks! That's nice of you, sir. We were just thinking of trying to buy a dinner when we saw the fire. You see we skated up here from Columbia," said Lanky, who was hovering near enough to catch what was said.