I do like fire-engines. They are so smart and fierce, and look like dragons ready to fight the devouring element.
It was no use, however, in spite of the beautiful costumes of the firemen, because there was no water, except in the well, and not much left of that.
The man named Honeysett had ridden off on an old boneshaker of his to fetch the engines. He had left the key in the place where it was always kept, only Eliza had not had the sense to look for it. He had left a letter for her, too, written in red pencil on the back of a bill for a mowing-machine. It said: 'Rix on fir'; going to git fir'-injins.'
Oswald treasures this letter still as a memento of happier days.
When Honeysett saw the line of men handing up buckets to throw on the tarry wall, he said:
'That ain't no manner of use. Wind's changed a hour agone.'
And so it had. The flames were now reaching out the other way, and two more ricks were on fire. But the tarry walls were quite cool, and very wet, and the men who were throwing the
