Ned Wilfer at that moment dashed up to Andy's side.

"I'll stay and help you," he panted.

"Don't be tardy, don't get into trouble," said Andy.

Dobbin was making straight across a meadow. The kerosene soaked rags had
pretty well burned out. They smoked still, however, and in the breeze
once in a while a tongue of flame would dart forth.

Dobbin passed a haystack, then another. He was momentarily shut out from
Andy's view on both occasions.

At his second reappearance Andy noticed that the animal had got rid of
the hoop. Dobbin now slackened his pace, snorted, and, laying down,
rolled over and over in the stubble.

The horse righted himself as Andy came up with him, breathless.

"So, so, old fellow," soothed Andy. "Just singed the mane a little,
that's all."

He patted the animal's nose and seized the bridle to lead Dobbin back to
the pasture from which he had started.

"Oh, gracious!" exclaimed Andy, abruptly dropping the bridle quicker
than he had seized it.

Forty feet back on the course Dobbin had come, the second haystack was
all ablaze.