“‘What are you doing, you young donkey?’ he sang out.
“‘Look over there!’ I says, tugging the bell.
“Dad looked. It didn’t take him long to see what was up when he spied that big cloud of smoke.
“‘Great Scott!’ he shouted. ‘Jim, get Billy to run the horses up. Where are you all? Burrows, Field, Henry! Get out the water-cart—quick. All of you get ready fire-beaters. Dress yourselves—quickly!’ (You could see that was quite an afterthought on Dad’s part.) Then he turned and fled inside to dress.”
“How ripping!” Wally said, wriggling on the log with joy.
“Ripping, do you call it?” said Jim indignantly. “You try it for yourself, young Wally, and see. Fire’s not much of a joke when you’re fighting it yourself, I can tell you. Well, Dad was out again in about two shakes, ready for the fray, and you can bet the rest of us didn’t linger long. Billy had the horses up almost as soon, and every one got his own. Things were a bit merry in the stockyard, I can tell you, and heels did fly.
“After all, Norah here was the first mounted. Bobs was in the stable, you see, and Norah had him saddled before any of us had put our bridles on. Goodness knows how she dressed. I guess it wasn’t much of a toilet!”
Jim ducked suddenly, and a chip hurled by Norah flew over his head and splashed into the water.
“Get out—you’ll frighten the fish!” he said, grinning. “My yarn, old girl.”
“Might have had the sense to keep me out of it,” said Norah impolitely.