His coat and shirt, burnt
in a score of places, hung in singed fragments round him. There were
great holes burnt in his panama hat, even in his riding breeches. Jim
flung himself from his horse, and ran to him.
"Wal, old man! Are you hurt?"
"Not me," said Wally briefly. "Only a bit singed. I say, you two, you
don't know how sorry I am. Tommy, I wish I could have got here in time."
"You seem to have got here in time to try, anyhow," said Tommy, and her
lip trembled. "Are you sure you're not hurt, Wally?" She slipped from
her saddle, and came to him. "Were you in the fire?"
"No, I'm truly all right," Wally assured her. He suddenly realized that
he had not known how tired he was; something in his head began to whirl
round, and a darkness came before his aching eyes. He felt Jim catch
him; and then he was sitting on the ground, propped against the fence,
and blinking up at them all, while indignantly assuring them that he had
never been better.
"Did you meet the fire? It was away from here before I got here."
"It crossed the road in front of us," Mr. Linton said. "There were a
good many men about by that time--we got it stopped before it reached
Elston's." His pitying eyes went back to the brother and sister. Anxiety
for Wally had drawn them from their own disaster for a moment; now they
had moved away together, and stood looking at the ashes of their home,
where so many hopes were ashes, too.
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