e paper, taking
solid comfort in the fact that Bruce's Mills were closed for the day. "I
want you to help me with a little work out in the yard," he said, "as
soon as you've had your breakfast." So it was almost one o'clock before
Bob and Betty set out for the scene of last night's fire. Just across
the river they met Chance Carter and George Gibson, bound in the same
direction.

The German church still raised its steepled head toward the sky, but its
roof had fallen in, and Turner Hall was a mass of blackened ruins. Parts
of the walls were still standing, swaying as if ready to topple over any
moment. Off in one corner the blackened timbers and jumbled bits of
furniture were stubbornly smoldering.

The four stood and looked. "Just think!" said Betty softly. "All that
from just one little careless match! Guess _that_ man won't light a
match in a coat closet again."

"Pshaw!" scoffed Chance Carter. "That wouldn't happen once in a thousand
times."

"How many matches do you suppose are scratched in the United States
every second?" asked Bob, shortly.

"Oh, a couple of hundred, I suppose."

"Ten thousand, Chance, _every second_. And every match is a possible
fire. Sure Pop told me last night that one third of the fire losses are
due to carelessness in handling matches. And the fires in this country
cost us over a million dollars every day--twice that, counting the cost
of fire departments."

"Whew!" Even reckless Chance looked impressed.

"When you get into the Boy Scouts," Bob reminded him, "you'll find out
what _they_ think about fooling with fire. A real Scout never leaves his
camp fire till he's dead sure it's out. Even after there's no fire left
that he can see, he pours water on it and all around it to guard against
its rekindling. A Scout who isn't careful about such things is looked
down on by the others as not of much account."

"Well, I don't care; there's such a thing as being too careful. I wish
we had the old-fashioned Fourth of July back again. This sane Fourth
business is too tame for me!" Chance strolled off to the far corner of
the smoking ruins and began climbing around in the half-filled basement.

George winked at Betty. "Can't teach _him_ anything," he chuckled. "He
was born careless and he'll die careless, I guess. Look at him,
now--poking around where those loose bricks may cave in on him any
minute. We can't say anything, though, or he'll get mad. Chance Carter
always has to have his own