On the Monday morning Harry came home as usual, and, as usual, went
to bed after his breakfast. "I wouldn't care about the heat if it
were not for the wind," he said to his wife, as he threw himself
down.

"The wind carries it so, I suppose."

"Yes; and it comes from just the wrong side--from the northwest.
There have been half a dozen fires about to-day."

"During the night, you mean."

"No; yesterday--Sunday. I can not make out whether they come by
themselves. They certainly are not all made by incendiaries."

"Accidents, perhaps."

"Well, yes. Somebody drops a match, and the sun ignites it. But the
chances are much against a fire like that spreading. Care is wanted
to make it spread. As far as I can learn, the worst fires have not
been just after midday, when, of course, the heat is greater, but in
the early night, before the dews have come. All the same, I feel that
I know nothing about it--nothing at all. Don't let me sleep long."

In spite of this injunction, Mrs. Heathcote determined that he should
sleep all day if he would. Even the nights were fearfully hot and
sultry, and on this Monday morning he had come home much fatigued. He
would be out again at sunset, and now he should have what rest nature