madly along the flaming hill-side, crying, "My child! My little Poll! My own wee Mary!"
Some of the children, it appeared, had been taking lunch to their parents on what was then the back of the fire. The sudden change and rise of the wind had converted this into, the front. Up the valleys on each side of a hill the hungry flames swept.
With extreme difficulty the infant band had, by strong arms and swift feet, been rescued. Alas ! one of their number, little Mary Bastion, was missing. She had been with the party on the ridge, and now "was not." Her parents were distracted. For a while none could pass that barrier of smoke and fire. When it rolled away, what would be left of wee Mary?
The hill on which she last was seen was partially protected by masses of bald rock, which had checked the advance of the fire in that direction. Ere long, however, it would creep through interstices, and, revelling in the thick undergrowth that crowned the summit of the knoll, envelop all in flame.
Larry, who had been galloping round all the morning, directing and encouraging the fire-fighters, appeared at this juncture on the scene.
In a moment he grasped the situation. At the wall of fire and down at his horse he glanced.
"I think we might manage it, 'Salamander,'" he cried. "I'm game to try if you are!" Patting the arched neck, his eye searched for some break in the mass of fire and smoke that was mounting to the skies.
Springing to his side Bastion laid a trembling hand on his rein.
"No, sir," he cried, "you shan't try it. No living man could ride through that forest now. When we can—it'll be—— But you couldn't fetch her out of it now."
