To some youths this matter of the option would have been such a clog¹ that they would have lost interest and slighted the work. But not so with Hiram Strong.  
He counted this day a lost one, however; he hated to leave the farm for a minute when there was so much to do.
 
But the next morning he got the plow² into the four-acre corn lot; and he did nothing but the chores that week until the ground was entirely³ plowed⁴. Then Henry Pollock came over and gave him another day's work and they finished grubbing the lowland.
 
The rubbish was piled in great heaps down there, ready for burning. As long as the rain held off, Hiram did not put fire to the bush-heaps.
 
But early in the following week the clouds began to gather in a quarter for rain, and late in the afternoon, when the air was still, he took a can of coal oil, and with Sister and Mr. Camp, and even Mrs. Atterson, at his heels, went down to the riverside to burn the brush heaps.
 
“There's not much danger of the fire spreading to the woods; but if it should,” Hiram said, warningly, “it might, at this time of year, do your timber a couple of hundred dollars' worth of damage.”
 
“Goodness me!” exclaimed Mother Atterson. “It does seem ridiculous to hear you talk that a-way. I never owned nothin' but a little bit of furniture before, and I expected the boarders to tear that all to pieces. I'm beginning to feel all puffed⁵ up and wealthy.”
 
Hiram cut them all green pineboughs for beaters, and then set the fires, one after another. There were more than twenty of the great piles and soon the river bottom, from bend to bend, was filled with rolling clouds of smoke. As the dusk dropped, the yellow glare of the fire illuminated⁸ the scene.
 
Sister clapped her hands and cried:
 
“Ain't this bully⁹? It beats the Fourth of July celebration in Crawberry. Oh, I'd rather be on the farm than go to heaven!”
 
They had brought their supper with them, and leaving the others to watch the fires, and see that the grass did not tempt¹⁰ the flames to the edge of the wood, Hiram cast bait into the river and, in an hour, drew out enough mullet and “bull-heads” to satisfy them all, when they were broiled¹¹ over the hot coals of the first bonfire to be lighted.
 
They ate with much enjoyment¹². Between nine and ten o'clock the fires had all burned down to coals.
 
A circle of burned-over grass and rubbish surrounded each fire. There seemed no possibility that the flames could spread to the mat of dry leaves on the side hill.
 
So they went home, a lantern guiding their feet over the rough path through the timber, stopping at the spring for a long, thirst-quenching draught¹³.
 
The sky was as black as ink. Now and again a faint flash in the westward¹⁴ proclaimed a tempest in that direction. But not a breath of wind was stirring, and the rain might not reach this section.
 
A dull red glow was reflected on the clouds over the river-bottom. When Hiram looked from his window, just as he was ready for bed, that glow seemed to have increased.
 
“Strange,” he muttered. “It can't be that those fires have spread. There was no chance for them to spread. I—don't—understand it!”
 
He sat at the window and stared out through the darkness. There was little wind as yet; it was a fact, however, that the firelight flickered¹⁵ on the low-hung clouds with increasing radiance.
 
“Am I mad?” demanded the young farmer, suddenly leaping up and drawing on his garments again. “That fire is spreading.”
 
He dressed fully¹⁶, and ran softly down the stairs and left the house. When he came out in the clear the glow had not receded¹⁷. There was a fire down the hillside, and it seemed increasing every moment.
 
He remembered the enemy in the dark, and without stopping to rouse the household, ran on toward the woods, his heart beating heavily in his bosom¹⁸.
 
Slipping, falling at times, panting heavily because of the rough ground, Hiram came at last through the more open timber to the brink¹⁹ of that steep descent, at the bottom of which lay the smoky river-bottom.
 
And indeed, the whole of the lowland seemed filled with stifling²⁰ clouds of smoke. Yet, from a dozen places along the foot of the hill, yellow flames were starting up, kindling²¹ higher, and devouring²² as fast as might be the leaves and tinder left from the wrack²³ of winter.
 
The nearest bonfire had been a hundred yards from the foot of this hill. His care, Hiram knew, had left no chance of the dull coals in any of the twenty heaps spreading to the verge²⁴ of the grove²⁵.
 
Man's hand had done this. An enemy, waiting and watching until they had left the field, had stolen down, gathered burning brands, and spread them along the bottom of the hill, where the increasing wind might scatter²⁶ the fire until the whole grove was in a blaze.
 
Not only was Mrs. Atterson's timber in danger, but Darrell's tract²⁷ and that lying beyond would be overwhelmed by the flames if they were allowed to sp............