"Not yet, but the wind's blowing right agin' them."
"Well, we can't do anything about the fold-yard, but get some men—anyone, and make a line of buckets and jugs from the pump to the stables, and try and keep the fire off them. Mrs. Greenwood, you go and take those other women and get all the jugs and things you can find in the house. Oh, wait a minute. There's the key. Violet's out."
There was very little that one could do but wait for the fire-engine. John seemed entirely bewildered, not exactly alarmed but stunned and helpless, standing by the wall and doing nothing. That really did not matter because no one could do anything with a fire blazing in a dry stackyard, without an adequate supply of water. She touched his arm.
"There's nothing to be done here," she cried. "Not till the fire-engine comes. You'd better go into the house."
He shook her off irritably, but said nothing and continued to watch the crackling flames and floating wisps of fiery straw.
The onlookers stared at them both with awed curiosity. They wondered what it was like to stand and see, one's whole harvest, corn and straw and buildings and all, blazing away like a bonfire on Guy Fawkes' night.
Mary turned to a woman at her side.
"Do they think it was a spark from the engine?" she asked.
The onlooker was Mrs. Waite. She stared at Mary with wide frightened eyes.
"Oh, I don't know, I don't know. Eli said it was."