A wave of smoke rolled about them and sparks drove past like hail. A fiery shower fell on Carrie's thin dress and Jim, seizing her, beat them out. This was needful and he began without embarrassment but presently thrilled, and Carrie's scorched face got red as he ran his smarting hands across the thin material.
"Keep still!" he said, roughly. "It's light stuff and will soon catch fire."
Then, picking off a glowing cinder, he took her arm and they started down hill. When they came out of the smoke he was breathless and Carrie gasped.
"Oh, Jim, you have burned your hands!" she said.
"Not much. They're hard and I have often hurt them worse. It's your dress that bothers me. Look at the charred spots."
"But you're not to blame for that."
"I am to blame. I oughtn't to have let you stay."
"I wanted to stay."
"That doesn't matter," Jim declared. "My business was to take care of you. In fact, it's my business all the time."
"Something of a responsibility, Jim!" Carrie remarked. "However, I think we'll go on."