21 



will be only coals and embers and burning 

 brands. 



Winds are fickle even winds of sun- 

 down. Dusk falls calm and stirless ; the 

 flame sinks languishes, creeps snail-slow 

 through the brush, barely blackening heav- 

 ier fuel. The evening-star comes, big and 

 white, into the west's pale glowing. And far 

 away to southward a slow, faint haze lies 

 low above the remaining trees. Wind is 

 under it, rain in its breast. The men run- 

 ning hither and yon, tossing leaves and 

 brush upon the dying fire, look up at the 

 cloud-wall with hope and fear. 



One tall fellow raises his hand ; his mates 

 stop still and lean, in shirt-sleeves, against 

 their rakes, looking all away from the leader 

 who has sprung upon a tall stump and whis- 

 tles and whistles .for wind. 



It comes at dark rushing, roaring, half 

 a hurricane. The plant-bed is one huge 

 flame ; the glare of its burning shows red 

 against the sky now faintly murk, yet full 

 of veiled stars. The wind plays tricks with 

 the fire hurls brands about till on every 

 hand brush -piles flame twenty feet in air. 

 Lines of fire run, too, all along the trampled 

 leaves. If once they reach the untouched 

 wood, havoc indeed will be wrought. 



