The flames made mercifully short work of it; they roared and crackled
and spat wreathing fiery tongues round the chimneys and up and down
the verandah posts; shooting out of the broken windows and turning the
white-painted iron of the roof into a twisted and blackened mass. It
fell in presently with a deafening roar, bringing one chimney with it;
and soon all that Wally had to look at was a smouldering heap of coals,
in the midst of which one chimney stood, tottering and solitary,
with the kitchen stove a glowing mass of red-hot iron, and strangely
contorted masses of metal that once were beds. The boy uttered a groan.
"And they were so proud of it," he said. "Poor souls--how are they going
to stick it?"
He got up presently and made his way round to the back. All the sheds
and buildings were burned; he turned with a shudder from where Bob's
beloved Kelpie had died at his post chained in helplessness. The metal
parts of the buggy, writhed into knots and tangles, lay in the ashes of
the big shed; beyond, the pigsty smouldered.
"They've gone, too, I suppose," Wally said. "By George, where are all
his stock? They can't all be burned, surely."
There was nothing visible in the bare, black paddocks. He cast a wild
look round, and then made for the creek at a staggering run. The fire
had died away for lack of material as it neared the banks, for great
willows overhung them, a camping-ground for the stock all through the
summer heat, and the ground was always beaten hard and bare.
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