“What! and leave me here alone with the house afire? No, indeed! If you go, I'm goin', too.”
“Well, then, the carryll's got to do, whether or no. Git on a shawl or somethin', while I harness up.”
It was a frantic harnessing, but it was done in a hurry, and the ramshackle old carryall, dusty and cobwebbed, was dragged out of the barn, and Horace Greeley, the horse, was backed into the shafts. As they drove out of the yard the flames were roaring through the roof of the henhouse, and the lath fence surrounding it was beginning to blaze.
“Everything's so wet from the fog and the melted snow,” observed the Captain, “that it 'll take some time for the fire to git to the barn. If we can git a gang here we can save the house easy, and maybe more. By mighty!” he ejaculated, “I tell you what we'll do. I'll drive across the ford and git Luther and some of the station men to come right across. Then I'll go on to the village to fetch more. It was seven when I looked at the clock as we come in from washin' dishes, so the tide must be still goin' out, and the ford jest right. Git dap!”
“Hurry all you can, for goodness' sake! Is this as fast as we can go?”
“Fast as we can go with this everlastin' Noah's Ark. Heavens! how them wheels squeal!”
“The axles ain't been greased for I don't know when. Abner was going to have the old carriage chopped up for kindlin' wood.”
“Lucky for him and us 'tain't chopped up now. Git dap, slow-poke! Better chop the horse up, too, while he's 'bout it.”
The last remark the Captain made under his breath.
“My gracious, how dark it is! Think you can find the crossin'?”