“Oh, Dick,” shivers Ruby, “I wish you wouldn’t say that. What if he was to be dead! And I’ve never been kind! I’ve never been kind!” Ruby breaks out in a wail, which Dick does not understand.
They are nearing the scene of the fire now. Luckily the cottage is hard by the river, so there is no scarcity of water. But the willing workers are but few. Stations are scarce and far between in the Australian bush, and the inhabitants not easily got together. There are two detachments of men at work, one party endeavouring to extinguish the flames of poor old Davis’s burning cottage, the others far in the distance trying to stop the progress of the fire by burning down the thickets in advance, and thus starving the main fire as it gains ground. This method of “starving the fire” is well known to dwellers in the Australian bush, though at times the second fire thus given birth to assumes such proportions as to outrun its predecessor.
“It’s not much use. It’s too dry,” Dick mutters. “I don’t like leaving you, Miss Ruby; but I’ll have to do it. Even a boy’s a bit of help in bringing the water. You don’t mind, do you, Miss Ruby? I think, if I was you, now that you’ve seen it, I’d turn and go home again. Smuttie’s easy enough managed; but if he got frightened, I don’t know what you’d do.”
“I’ll get down and hold him,” Ruby says. “I want to watch.” Her heart is sick within her. She has never seen a fire before, and it seems so fraught with danger that she trembles when she thinks of dad, the being she loves best on earth. “Go you away to the fire, Dick,” adds Ruby, very pale, but very determined. “I’m not afraid of being left alone.”
The fire is gaining ground every moment, and poor old Davis’s desolate home bids fair to be soon nothing but a heap of blackened ruins. Dick gives one look at the burning house, and another at his little mistress. There is no time to waste if he is to be of any use.
“I don’t like leaving you, Miss Ruby,” says Dick again; but he goes all the same.
Ruby, left alone, stands by Smuttie’s head, consoling that faithful little animal now and then with a pat of the hand. It is hot, scorchingly hot; but such cold dread sits at the little girl’s heart that she does not even feel the heat. In her ears is the hissing of those fierce flames, and her love for dad has grown to be a very agony in the thought that something may befall him.
“Ruby!” says a well-known voice, and through the blaze of sunlight she sees her father coming towards her. His face, like Ruby’s, is very pale, and his hands are blackened with the grime and soot. “You ought not to be here, child. It isn’t even safe. Away home to your mother, and tell her it is all right, for I know she will be feeling anxious.”
“But is it all right, dad?” the little girl questions anxiously. Her eyes flit from dad’s face to the burning cottage, and then to those other figures in the lurid light far away. “And mamma will be frightened; for she’ll think you’ll be getting hurt. And so will I,” adds poor Ruby with a little catch in her voice.
“What nonsense, little girl,” says her father cheerfully. “There, dear, I have no time to wait, so get on Smuttie, and let me see you away. That’s a brave little girl,” he adds, stooping to kiss the small anxious face.