“Oh, that's easy,” said Cochrane. “I was at the Post Office, and, hearin' Smith talkin' 'bout this raisin' bee and how they were stuck for sash and door, so seein' I wasn't goin' to build this fall I told him he might as well have the use of these. My team was laid up and Smith got Jim Bracken to haul 'em down.”
“Well, this gets me,” said Cameron. “It appears no one started this thing. Everything just happened. Now the shingles, I suppose they just tumbled up into their place there.”
“The shingles?” said Cochrane. “I dunno 'bout them. Didn't know there were any in the country.”
“Oh, they just got up into place there of themselves I have no doubt,” said Cameron.
“The shingles? Ah, bay Jove! Rawthah! Funny thing, don't-che-naow,” chimed in a young fellow attired in rather emphasized cow-boy style, “funny thing! A Johnnie—quite a strangah to me, don't-che-naow, was riding pawst my place lawst week and mentioned about this—ah—raisin' bee he called it I think, and in fact abaout the blawsted Indian, and the fire, don't-che-naow, and all the rest of it, and how the chaps were all chipping in as he said, logs and lumbah and so fowth. And then, bay Jove, he happened to mention that they were rathah stumped for shingles, don't-che-naow, and, funny thing, there chawnced to be behind my stable a few bunches, and I was awfully glad to tu'n them ovah, and this—eh—pehson—most extraordinary chap I assuah you—got 'em down somehow.”
“Who was it inquired?” asked Cameron.
“Don't naow him in the least. But it's the chap that seems to be bossing the job.”
“Oh, that's Smith,” said Cochrane.
“Smith!” said Cameron, in great surprise. “I don't even know the man. He was good enough to help my wife to beat back the fire. I don't believe I even spoke to him. Who is he anyway?”
“Oh, he's Thatcher's man.”