A heavy hand was laid on the old woman's shoulder.

"Here, you Gipsy woman. Were you sleeping in that barn?" demanded a gruff voice.

"I met two Gipsy men running across the fields to the west as I came down," answered another male voice. "The Gipsies are camped about a mile and a half from here. I think we ought to arrest the old woman, don't you, Squire?"

"Sybarina was asleep in the barn," admitted the Gipsy woman.

"And you set the barn on fire, too," declared the squire. "I'll have to arrest you."

"She didn't set the barn on fire, sir," defended Harriet Burrell.

"The fires from the skies made the barn burn," announced the Gipsy woman.

"Who are you?" demanded the man, turning sharply to Harriet. "I suppose you will tell me _you_ weren't sleeping in my barn?"

"On the contrary, we were," interjected Miss Elting.

"Then I arrest the whole parcel of you."

"Thave me!" wailed Tommy Thompson. "We didn't thet your old barn on fire. We were jutht thleeping there, that wath all."

"You will all stay here till I get through with this fire; then I'll hold court on you and if you don't answer to suit me I'll have you all over to the county seat to-morrow."

"No one set your barn on fire, sir," declared Harriet, with emphasis.

"The barn was struck by lightning."

"Did you see it?"

"I can't say that I saw the lightning strike, but I saw the flash, then saw the fire start up directly afterwards. I heard this woman scream and we hurried to her rescue. She was unconscious. The bolt had nearly killed her. That proves that it was lightning, not matches, that set your barn on fire."

"What were you doing in my barn?"

"Thleeping with the mithe and the bugth," volunteered Tommy.

"Who be you? You ain't Gipsies?"

"No. We are from Meadow-Brook, and we are walking home from the Pocono Woods, where we have been spending the summer in camp," Miss Elting informed the man.

"So, that's it, hey?"

"Yes, sir. A young woman friend of ours usually meets us at night. She has our equipment in her automobile, but we took the wrong trail to-day, and have lost her. She is over in the other valley waiting for us, I think."

"Is she a crazy woman with light hair that streams over her shoulders, and does she drive her car as though she was running a race?"

"From your description I think you must have met Miss McCarthy,"

answered the guardian, smiling a little. "Have you seen her to-day?"

"I should say I had. She nigh killed a calf of mine this afternoon. I'd just like to get my grip on her once. I'd make her answer to the law."

"Was your calf in the road, sir?" questioned Harriet.

"Yes. What of it?"

"I don't believe the law would do anything to Miss McCarthy in that case. Of course I am sorry for the calf," said Harriet.

"Oh, the calf ain't hurt. Jest lost a little hair off her tail, shaved off as close as ye could do it with a razor. But that don't matter. It's the barn and nigh onto a hundred tons of hay gone up in smoke that bothers me. I wisht I was sure you was telling the truth. If I thought you weren't I'd have you all in the lock-up afore morning."

"Are-are there any mithe in the lock-up?" questioned Tommy apprehensively.

"Eh? Stacks all gone, too?" This in answer to a word from a farmer who came from the rear of the burning barn. "Well, let 'em go. There'll be another crop of hay next year. Mebby the price'll be better then."

The loss of his barn did not appear to trouble the "Squire" greatly. All the time he was talking he was regarding the women out of the corners of his eyes. He saw that they were drenched through and through. Tommy and Margery were shivering. He decided that they were persons of some consequence, even if they had been sleeping in his barn. His reflections were interrupted by Miss Elting.

"Can you tell me which way the young woman and the car went?"

"Can I? I guess I can. She went east. The calf could tell ye, too, if she could talk, but she wouldn't say it quite so easy like as I'm tellin' you now."

"Jane was looking for us," nodded Miss Elting. "She must have reasoned that we had gotten into this valley by mistake."

"Where you going to stay the rest of the night?" questioned the squire gruffly.

"I am afraid we shall have to stay out in the rain if we don't succeed in finding another barn," laughed the guardian. "My girls are pretty well used to roughing it, though they never before pa.s.sed quite such a night as this has been. Do you know of a farm house nearby where we may get lodgings? We are perfectly willing to sleep on the floor in the kitchen, provided we can have the room to dry out our clothes, and we shall be glad and willing to pay for the trouble."

"You may come home with me," answered the man, after a brief hesitation.

"What is your name, sir?" questioned Miss Elting.

"Squire Olney, Miss. You see I ain't a squire by appointment. The neighbors jest call me that because I settle their difficulties. I've got more land in this township than all the rest of them put together.

That's why I ain't takin' the burnin' of the barn to heart so much as you think I ought to," he added, with a broad smile.

"Have you a family at home?" questioned Miss Elting.

"My wife and I are alone. Children all married."

"How far is it from here to your home, sir?"

"About a mile right over the hill. What do you say?"

"We will go with you. We thank you for your kindness. I am very sorry, indeed, that you have lost your barn and your hay," said the guardian in a sympathetic tone.

The squire leaned toward her.

"I ain't lost anything," he said, with a wink. "Insured. Insured plumb up to the muzzle, and then some more. Boys, I'm going home to show the ladies the way. You can have all the hay that's left. I want the ashes for fertilizer. Ashes is good for the cut worms in the cabbage patch.

Come on, ladies."

Squire Olney nodded to them and started away. He halted sharply.

"Where's that old Gipsy woman? She ain't included in the invitation."