Jot pulled her along, talking to her all the way.

In less time than it takes to tell of it, the cattle were out of danger.

"Now the hens--hurry, hurry, Jot! I'm going to help Kent. It mustn't
get to the hay upstairs!"

Thanks to Kent's steady, tireless work, there was little danger of that
now. Already the flames were greatly subdued, and only sputtered
aimlessly under the regular showers of water that fell upon them. The
two boys toiled over them patiently till just a blackened corner told
that they had been there in the trig little barn.

It had been a short, sharp battle. A moment's indecision, a very little
less determined effort and presence of mind, and nothing but a miracle
could have saved the barn. And then the house! It stood so near--what
could have saved it?

It was an hour or more before Old Tilly would allow the live stock
brought back into the barn. They hovered anxiously over the blackened
embers, for fear they might spring into life again. But at last there
seemed no danger, and presently the building settled back to quiet
again, and the tired rescuers tried to snatch a little sleep in the hay.
Jot woke the others in the first dim daylight.

"Fire! Fire!" he screamed.

"Where? Where is it?" cried Kent, springing to his feet.

"Put--it--o-ut," mumbled Old Tilly.