Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1883-10-03
THE PRAIRIE FIRE.

"On, daddyI called a clear, glrllSh
voice.
eyes, Lindy; what's wanted?"
"Ma wants to know how long it'll be
fore you're ready"
"Oh, tell her I'll be at the door by the
time she gets her things on. BE sure
you have the butter and eggs all ready
to put into the wagon. We're maxim
too late start to town."
Butter and eggs, indeed! AS if Lin
dy needed reminder other than the
new dress for which they were to be
exchanged.
"Elmer and l can 60 to town next
time, can't we, map she asked, enter
ing the house.
Eyes, Lindy; I hope So" was the re-
ply. "But don't bother me now; your
pa is coming already, and haven't my
shawl on yet Yes, Wilbur; Pm here.
Just put this butter in, Lindy, I'll
carry the eggs in my lap. Now, Lindy,
don't let Elmer play with the fire or
run away"
And in moment more the heavy
lumber wagon ratified away from the
door, and the children stood gazing
after it for awhile, in half-forlorn man
ner. Then Lindy went in to do her
work, Elmer resumed his play, and
soon everything was moving along as
cheerfully as ever.
After dinner, Elmer went to sleep,
and Lindy, feeling rather lonely again,
went out-of-doors for a change. 1t
was a warm autumnal day, almost the
perfect counterpart of dozen or more
which had preceded it. The sun shone
brightly and the hot winds that swept
through the tall grass made that and
all else it touched so dry that the
prairie seemed like vast tinder-boX.
Though her parents had but lately
moved to this place, Lindy was accus-
toned to the prairies. She had been
born on them, and her eyes were fa-
miliar with nothing else; yet, as she
stood to-day with that brown, ,unbroken
eXpanse rolling away before her unit
it reached the pale blush-gray of the
sky, the indescribable feeling of awe
and terrible solitude which such a
scene often inspires in one not familiar
with it stole gradually over her. But
Lindy was far too practical to remain
long under such an influence. The
chickens were "peeping' loudly, and
she remembered that they were still
without their dinner.
AS she passed around the corner of
the house with a dish of corn in her
hands, the wind almost lifted her from
the ground. 1t was certainly blowing
with greater violence than during the
morning.
Great tumble weeds went flying by,
turning over and over with lightning
like rapidity; then, pausing for an in
stant's rest, were caught by another gust
and carried along, mile after mile, till
some fence or other obstacle was reach
ed, where they could pile up in great
drifts, and wait till brisk wind from
an opposite direction should send them
rolling and tumbling all the way back.
But Lindy did not notice the tumble
weeds. The dish of corn had fallen from
her hand, and she stood looking straight
ahead with wide-open, frightened eyes.
What was the sight that so frighten-
ed her2
Only line of fire below the horizon.
Only line of fire, with forked flames
darting high into the air, cloud of
smoke drifting away from them. A
beautiful relief, this bright, changing
spectacle from the brown monotony of
the prairie.
But the scene was without beauty
for Lindy. Her heart had given one
great bound when she first saw the red
line, and then it seemed to cease beat
ing. She had seen many prairie fires;
had seen her father and other men fight
them, and she knew at once the danger
her home was in. What could she, q
little girl, do to save it, and perhaps