"I don't think house is afire yet, but it must catch the thack before long." The faint sound of a dog barking at a distance now reached their ears, but it was evidently not from the direction of the farm, and the squire's thoughts were put into words by Dick, who, as he looked on now between his father and the wheelwright, exclaimed in a hoarse voice: "Why, father, don't they know that the place is on fire ?" "Nay, that they don't," cried the wheelwright excitedly.

"They're all asleep." "Let's run faster," cried Dick.
"No.

We have a long way to go yet," cried the squire, "and if we run faster we shall be too much exhausted to help." "But, father--oh, it is so dreadful!" cried Dick, as in imagination he pictured horror after horror.
"Can you run, Dick--faster ?" "Yes, father, yes." "I can't," panted Hickathrift; "I've growed too heavy." "Run on, then, and shout and batter the door.

We'll get up as quickly as we can." "Ay, roon, Master Dick, roon!" cried the wheelwright.

"Fire's ketched the thack." Dick doubled his fists, drew a long breath, and made a rush, which took him fifty yards in advance.