bit of water won't do anything for the
shack. See the sparks fly! They'll fall on the roof of the cabin, and
that will go, too."

The blaze was now fast reaching the roof of the shack. Blazing little
flakes of fire were soaring up toward the sky.

"We can't save the shack. We can't get water fast enough!" Prescott
called. "We must try to wet down the roof of the cabin, to keep it from
getting afire."

Fred Ripley and Bert Dodge now appeared to be thoroughly frightened.
Without waiting to be asked, they came forward to help boost Dick and
Dave up to the roof of the log cabin. As fast as the water came Dick or
Dave dashed it over the side of the cabin roof that was more exposed to
sparks from the shack, every particle of snow having been blown off the
roof by the furious wind that had prevailed.

"Look!" called Tom. "The wind is coming up--it's carrying the sparks
away from the cabin."

"No need to bring more water, then," sang out Fred Ripley, in a voice of
intense relief. "It's all right if the sparks aren't blowing toward the
cabin."

"Keep bringing water," disputed Dick, "until the shack is completely
burned down. We can't take any chances."

But at last even Dick Prescott was satisfied with the quantity of water
that had been poured over the cabin's roof. Before the new breeze the
sparks were steadily being carried the other way.

"We'll stop, now," Dick announced. "We can start again at any time that
the wind changes to this quarter."

"What are you going to tell your father about this, Ripley?" Dave Darrin
asked presently.

"Nothing," replied Fred, with a start.

"Is that all you ever tell him about your misdeeds?" inquired Tom dryly.

"This isn't my misdeed," Fred snapped. "You fellows started all the
trouble."

"I suppose we even invited your crowd to come over here this afternoon
and steal our food?" Dave continued.

"Now, you youngsters will get trouble started all over again, if you
don't look out," Fred threatened the Grammar School boys.

"You'd better leave us alone," suggested Dick, "and make up your mind
about what you're going to tell your father when he hears about this."

"Who's going to tell him?" snarled young Ripley.

"I don't know."

"Are you, Dick Prescott?" insisted Fred.

"Not unless I have to."

"Don't you dare go to spreading this yarn around Gridley!"

"I won't promise," Dick made answer. "I don't want to carry tales if I
can help it, but we're bound to report to