him. The jolt threw him, baby and all, out
against the side of the cut into the wet sand. Outside of the ugly cuts
and bad bruises he was unharmed, but was the hero of the day.

Mrs. Thornton sat by her boy, tenderly caring for his every need. He had
swooned at the sight of his own blood and had not yet returned to
consciousness. In the next seat the injured fireman was propped up on
pillows, watching the boy.

"There's a piece of real stuff," he said to the engineer as they sat
talking together. "Looks just like my old pard. It took real pluck to go
after that baby. If Bill'd a been here he would have gotten enthusiastic
over that lad."

CHAPTER II

A Story Is Told and a Promise Made

An open fire had always been tremendously fascinating to Willis Thornton,
and on winter evenings, when his chores were done and supper over, he
would pile the big fireplace high with maple logs, then sit and dream as
the flames danced and the fire roared. He was a sturdy lad, healthy,
cheerful, wholesome, and tonight he was thinking.

The snow-laden wind was sweeping across the "Flat Bush." At every fresh
gust the fire would crackle and the little blue flames start up along the
none-too-well seasoned logs. Outside the old farmhouse the great dead
limb of a monstrous white oak moaned and sighed, while the usual sounds
from the barnyard were lost in the patter of the icy snowflakes that
rattled against the window pane. From the open door of the kitchen came
faint odors of freshly-popped corn and the monotonous hum of the old
sewing-machine. Willis was hardly aware of any presence in the room save
his own until a warm hand was laid gently on his and a dish of snowy
popcorn set in his lap. He had been so engrossed with his own fancies
that he had not seen his mother enter the firelit room and come toward
him.

"Well, my boy; what are you dreaming of tonight?" she asked, as she
seated herself in her accustomed place on the arm of his chair and placed
her arm gently on his shoulder.

"O, I've just been planning a bit, mother," he said with a smile.
"Sometimes when I sit here by this old fire I forget myself. I travel to
the strangest lands and think the strangest thoughts. Still, they all
seem so very real to me that when I try not to think of them a peculiar
restlessness comes over me. I can hardly wait for summer and the great
big out-of-doors. Did you ever think, mother, what life would be if we
didn't have the birds and t