It was no boys' play, I can tell you. For two long hours they fought the flames, with blistering hands and faces begrimed with smoke and cinders. And when they saw the fire was gaining inch by inch, they worked still.
"We'll do all we can," panted Charley. "Oh, boys, why won't it rain! The thunder-clouds all go round. Oh, boys!"
As he spoke, a long fiery tongue lapped at the foot of a dry tree, and the flames went up, up, to the top, with a hissing, rushing roar which turned the boys' hearts sick with dread.
"It's gone," said Charley. "We can't do any more."
But at the same moment came a growl of distant thunder. A dense, black cloud was growing in the west. Through it there darted a vivid gleam of light.
"Thunder and lightning!" yelled Bud. "Up, boys, and at it again! We'll have plenty of help before long."
So it proved. The cloud swept over the sky with surprising rapidity, and in a very short time the rain fell in sheets. And out in the storm, the thunder crashing, and the lightning playing about them, stood ten smoke-blackened, drenched boys, with little rivers of rain wearing channels down their sooty faces, hurrahing with might and main. If a few tears of thankfulness and relief mingled with the rivers of rain, I do not think any boy need have been at all ashamed of them.
"Well," said Charley, "we've had our Fourth-of-July fire-works with a vengeance." This was when the rain had nearly ceased falling, and the boys had embarked for home.
"We've had the fire anyhow," laughed Bud, plying his paddle leisurely.
"And I'm sure we've had the work."