“No fire protection out this far, either,” says Pete. “That’s why the fairgrounds was moved.”
We’re up close to the blaze now and it’s easily the biggest fire I’ve ever seen. All the old barns and sheds and display buildings that have been falling to pieces on account of being out of repair make the swellest kind of kindling wood and the flames, helped out by the wind, are leaping high in the air, sucking out for new things to burn. It’s a great sight.
“Some hot!” shouts Rod, backing up. “Say, it’s melting the ice on our slide!”
It is for a fact! The banks of snow are disappearing along the road, too, on account of the heat.
“Old Crabby must have cast a spell over this hill!” says Pete as we all feel a kind of uncanny feeling creep over us.
Then, Dill, who’s watching the flames and sparks as the wind’s carrying ’em high across the road, grabs me by the arm and points toward Crabby’s house. Holy smoke! There’s a spot on the roof that’s took fire!
“Goodbye!” calls Rod. “Now we’ll be blamed sure!”
“We might beat that out,” figures Pete, “if we could get inside and up on the roof.”
“Yeah, but who’s going to break into Crabby’s house?” replies Dill. “Not me!”
The little spot on the roof begins to grow bigger.