“Naw, you’d better stay here. You might get hurt and I won’t be able to take care of you. Besides you should be here to milk the cow in case I don’t get back on time.” Tommy started off up the road with a shovel over one shoulder and a heavy mop over the other. Jean was at the telephone. It was Judge Ellis calling.
“He’s worried about Becky, Mother,” Jean called up the stairs. “Cynthy Allen wanted her to come over to her place today to get some carpet rags, and Becky drove over there about an hour ago. He says her place lies right in the path of the fire. Mrs. Gorham has gone away for the day to the auction with Ben, and the Judge will have to stay with Billie. He’s terribly anxious.”
“Oh, Dad,” exclaimed Kit, “couldn’t I please, please, go over and stay with Billie, and let the Judge come up to the fire, if he wants to. I’m sure he’s just dying to. Not but what I’m sure Becky can take care of herself. May I? Oh, you dear. Tell him I’m coming, Jean.”
Jean had left the telephone and was putting on her coat. “Mother,” she asked, “do you mind if Doris and I just walk up the wood road a little way? We won’t go near the fighting line where the men are at all, and I’d love to see it. Besides I thought perhaps we might work our way around through that big back wood lot to Cynthy’s place and see if Becky is there. Then, we could drive back with them.”
“Why, yes, Jean, I think it’s safe for you both to go. Don’t you, Tom?”
Mr. Craig smiled at Jean’s flushed, excited face. It was so seldom that she lost her presence of mind and really became excited. “I don’t think it will hurt them a bit,” he said.
Doris grabbed her coat and the two girls started up the hill road for about three-quarters of a mile. The church bell over at the Plains kept ringing steadily. At the top of the hill they came to the old wood road that formed a short cut over to the old Ames place. Here where the trees met overhead in an arcade the road was heavy with black mud, and they had to keep to the side up near the old rock walls. As they advanced farther there came a sound of driving wheels, and all at once Hedda’s mother appeared in her car. She sat hunched over the wheel, a man’s old felt hat jammed down over her heavy, blonde hair, and an old overcoat with the collar upturned, thrown about her. Leaning forward with eager eyes, she seemed to be thoroughly enthusiastic over this new excitement in Elmhurst.
“Looks like it’s going to be some fire, girls,” she said as she stopped the car momentarily to speak to them. “I’m giving the alarm along the road.” And off she went.
“Isn’t that something?” declared Jean. “And to think that she runs a ninety-acre farm with the help of Hedda, thirteen years old, and two hired men. She gets right out into the fields with them and manages everything herself.”
A farm truck coming the opposite way held Mr. Rudemeir and his son August. An array of mops, axes, and shovels hung out over the rear of the truck. Mr. Rudemeir was smoking his clay pipe placidly, and merely waved one hand at the girls in salutation, but August called, “It has broken out on the other side of the road, farther down.”