"Oh, father," broke in Hal, presently, "Jake Murphy says the fire has caught over at Liberty."
"Yes," replied his father, absently, "they are having a desperate struggle with the fires this summer."
Lou's great blue eyes had grown brighter and brighter while they were talking, and a pink spot glowed in each cheek as she asked, "Do you think it could get here?"
"No, I think not; the wind is decidedly westward, and the people of Liberty will probably take all possible measures for checking its progress."
Mr. Leonard sighed as he spoke, and he seemed to be looking straight through Ruth rather than at her. Perhaps he was wondering how the four bairns and the sick wife were to be fed and cared for all winter if no rain came to save his failing crops.
Just then a low call was heard for Lou.
"Yes, ma'am," answered the little girl, running to the foot of the stairs.
"Will thee bring mother a nice glass of cold water?"
"I will, mother," rang out Ruth's cheery voice; "I'm coming up anyway."
Ruth went out to the well with her tin water pail, that her mother might have a draught fresh and sparkling. As she lowered the bucket, peering down into the mossy depths, she noticed how low the water was—lower than she had ever seen it, for their well was never known to fail, and in these times of drought the neighbors from far and near drew their daily supply from Farmer Leonard's spring. "We'll have to be very careful of it," she thought, "or it will give out."