"I am very glad he has gone back," said Heathcote.

"Why do you say so, Harry? You are not given to be inhospitable, and
why should you grudge me and Kate the rare pleasure of seeing a
strange face?"

"I'll tell you why. It's not about him at this moment; but I've been
disturbed.--Jacko, go on to the station, and say we're coming. Do you
hear me? Go on at once." Then Jacko, somewhat unwillingly, galloped
off toward the house. "Get off your horses, and come in."

He helped the two ladies from their saddles, and they all went into
the wool-shed, Harry leading the way. In one of the side pens,
immediately under the roof, there was a large heap of leaves, the
outside portion of which was at present damp, for the rain had beaten
in upon it, but which had been as dry as tinder when collected; and
there was a row or ridge of mixed brush-wood and leaves so
constructed as to form a line from the grass outside on to the heap.
"The fellow who did that was an ass," said Harry; "a greater ass than
I should have taken him to be, not to have known that if he could
have gotten the grass to burn outside, the wool-shed must have gone
without all that preparation. But there isn't much difficulty now in
seeing what the fellow has intended."

"Was it for a fire?" asked Kate.

"Of course it was. He wouldn't have been contented with the grass and
fences, but wanted to make sure of the shed also. He'd have come to
the house and burned us in our beds, only a fellow like that is too
much of a coward to run the risk of being seen."