One combination, 1, 2, 3, 4, was, by mutual consent, reserved for a communication of vital importance, "Come Over!" It was never to be used except in time of trouble, when the case would warrant leaving everything to obey the call. We had little expectation of its ever being used. It was simply a whim; although, like many other things, it served a serious purpose in the end.
Not far from my father's house stood a valuable timber lot, in which he took an especial pride. Adjoining this was an old apple orchard, where the limbs of several trees that had been cut down, and the prunings of the remainder, had been heaped together in two large piles to be burned at a favorable opportunity. One afternoon, when there was not the slightest breath of wind, we armed ourselves, father and I, with green pine boughs and set the brush-heaps a-fire. We had made the heap in as moist a spot as possible, that there might be less danger of the fire spreading through the grass. While the flame was getting under way, I busied myself in gathering stray bits of limbs and twigs—some of them from the edge of the woods—and throwing them on the fire.
"Be careful not to put on any hemlock branches!" shouted my father from his heap. "The sparks may snap out into the grass!"
Almost as he spoke, a live coal popped out with a loud snap, and fell at my feet, and the little tongues of flame began to spread through the dead grass. A few blows from my pine bough had smothered them, when snap, snap, snap! went three more in different directions. As I rushed to the nearest, I remembered throwing on several dead hemlock branches, entirely forgetting their snapping propensity.
Bestowing a few hasty strokes on the first spot of spreading flame, I hastened to the next, and was vigorously beating that, when, glancing behind me, I saw to my dismay that the first was blazing again. Ahead of me was another, rapidly increasing; while the roaring, towering flame at the heap was sputtering ominously, as if preparing to send out a shower of sparks. And, to make matters worse, I felt a puff of wind on my face. Terror-stricken I shouted: "Father! The fire is running! Come quick!"
In a moment he was beside me, and for a short time we fought the flame desperately.
"It'll reach the woods in spite of us!" he gasped, as we came together after a short struggle. "There isn't a neighbor within half a mile, and before you could get help it would be too late! Besides, one alone couldn't do anything against it!"
A sudden inspiration seized me. "I'm going to signal to Harry!" I cried. "If he sees it, he'll come, and perhaps bring help with him."
"Hurry!" he shouted back, and I started for the barn. The distance was short. As I reached it, I glanced over to Harry's. There were some white spots on his barn. He was signalling, and of course could see my signal. Excitedly I placed the flags in 1, 2, 3, 4, and without waiting for an answer, tore back across the fields to the fire. It was gaining rapidly. In a large circle, a dozen rods across, it advanced toward the buildings on one hand, and swept toward the woods on the other. We could only hope to hinder its progress until help should arrive.
Fifteen minutes of desperate struggle, and then, with a ringing cheer, Harry and his father dashed upon the scene. Their arrival infused me with new courage; and four pairs of hands and four willing hearts at length conquered the flame, two rods from the woods!