--If she's lonely, down
there, she'll--she'll remember the lesson--all the better. Go
downstairs and--be quiet!"

He fell sound asleep again. Obedient to the slumbrous mandate, Lad
turned and pattered mournfully away. But, he was not content to return
to his own nap, with that terror-cry of Lady's echoing in his ears. And
he made a second attempt to get out.

At each side of the piano, in the music room, was a long French window.
Often, by day, Lad used to pass in or out of these door-like windows.
He knew that they, as well as the doors, were a recognized means of
exit. Now, with eagerly scratching paw, he pushed at the nearest of
them.

The house was but carelessly locked at night. For Lad's presence
downstairs was a better burglar-preventive than the best bolts ever
forged. Tired and drowsy, the Master, this night, had neglected to bar
the French windows.

The window gave, at Lad's vehement scratch; and swung outward on its
hinges. A second later, the big dog was running at top speed toward the
tool-house.

Now, the ways of the most insignificant brushfire are beyond the exact
wisdom of man. Especially in droughty weather. When they knocked off
work for the day, the two laborers had gone back to the blaze beyond
the tool-house and conscientiously had scattered and stamped on its
last visible remnants. The Master, too, coming home from his evening
walk, had glanced toward the back garden and had seen no telltale spark
to hint at life in the trampled fire.

Nevertheless, a scrap of ember, hidden from the men's gaze beneath a
handful of dead leaves had refused to perish with its comrade-sparks.
And, in the course of five hours, an industrious little flicker had
ignited other bits of brush and of dried leafage and last year's weed
stumps. The wind was in the north. And it had guided the course of the
crawling thread of red. The advancing line had thrown out tendrils of
scarlet, as it went.

Most of these had died, in the plowed ground. One had not. It had crept
on, half-extinguished at times and again snapping merrily, until it had
reached the tool-house. The shed-like room stood on low joists, with a
clear space ten inches high between its flimsy board floor and the
ground. And, in this space, the leaves of the preceding autumn had
drifted in windrows. The persevering spark did the rest.

Lady woke from a fitful doze, to find herself choking from smoke. The
boards of the floor were too hot for endurance. Betw