He flung her from him upon the grass, laughing as she rose and tried to run, bringing up in the willows, which she could not see.

She could hear the flames crackling at the hay ricks on beyond.

By this time the sounds from the burning barn mercifully had ceased, but she heard him now at some further work.

He was trying to light the battered edge of the door with a match, but it would not burn.
"Where's the oil, gal ?" he demanded.
"We've got none," said she, guessing his purpose of firing the house now.
He made no answer but a grunt, and finding the ax at the wood pile nearby, began to hack at the jamb of the door, so that a series of chips stood out from it, offering better food for flames.

She heard him again strike a match--caught the faint smell of burning pine.
"Come on!" Again she felt his hand.