"Your father wouldn't dare to go into that burning house like mine does.

See there!" This was as Farmer Tallington rushed into the house again.
Dick turned sharply upon his companion.
"There isn't time to have it out now, Tom," he said in a whisper; "but I mean to punch your head for this, you ungrateful beggar.

Afraid to go into the house! Why, I'm not afraid to do that.

Come on!" He ran into the house and Tom followed, for them both to come out again bearing the old eight-day clock.
"Its easy, that's what it is," said Dick.

"Hooray, father!" he shouted, "you'll win!" It did not seem as if the squire would win, for though he was gradually being successful in extinguishing the burning thatch, the great waves of fire which came floating from the blazing stacks licked up the moisture and compelled him from time to time to retreat.
Fortunately, however, the supply of water was ample, and, thanks to the way in which Hickathrift dipped the buckets and encouraged the men as he passed them along, the thatch became so saturated that by the time quite a stack had been made of the indoor valuables there seemed to be a chance to leave the steaming roof and attack the burning stacks.
This was done, the ladder being left ready in case of the thatch catching fire again; and soon the squire was standing as close as he could get to the nearest stack, and sending in the contents of the buckets.
There was no hope of saving this, but every bucket of water promised to keep down the great flashes of fire which floated off and licked at the farm-house roof as they passed slowly on.
It was a glorious sight.