A new race began, and up at the starting-place there seemed to be a good deal of hilarity. The hearty laughs were tantalizing.

"What is it? Why don't they come on and give us fellows a chance to laugh, too?" exclaimed Jot, impatiently.

Kent was peering sharply between his hands. He suddenly began to laugh.

"It's a slow race!" he cried. "They're trying to see who can get behind! Come on up further where we can see. It'll be great!"

"Come along, then--hurry!" shouted Jot.

"It's a free-for-all. Anybody can compete," somebody was saying as they pa.s.sed. "But they've got to be slower than Old Tilly!"

"Can't do it!" whispered Jot. "Old Tilly can sit still on his bike."

"I hope he'll see the race," Kent panted. "It would be mean if he missed. Here's a good place--there they come. Look at 'em crawling along like snails! There's one chap clear behind. Yes, sir, he's standing still!"

Jot gave one look and uttered a shout:

"It's Old Tilly!"

"Jotham Eddy--no!"

"Look for yourself and see--ain't it?"

"Of course--no--yes, sir, it's Old Till, for a fact."

"And he's 'way behind--I told you there wasn't anybody slower'n Old Tilly! He's beating as fast as anything."

"As slow as anything. Come on! Let's cheer him, Jot."

They caught off their caps and cheered wildly. Every-body else joined in, catching at the name and laughing over it as a good joke.

"Hurrah--hurrah for Old Tilly!"

"Hip, hip, 'n' a tiger for Old Til-ly!"

The time-keeper called time, and Old Tilly descended from his victorious wheel and bowed profoundly to his cheerers. He walked away to join the other boys with the exaggerated air of a great victor, and the people shouted again.

"Oh, I say, that was rich, Old Till," gasped Jot. "That was worth a farm!"

"What made you think of entering?" Kent laughed.

"Oh, I thought I would--I knew I could beat 'em," Old Tilly said modestly.

Sunset ended the festivities in the grove, and the boys mounted and rode away with the other tired people. Gradually they fell behind.

"Don't--rush--so; I've got to keep up my reputation!" said Old Tilly.

"Besides, I'm tired."

"Me, too."

"Same here. Let's camp out to-night in the woods. Why didn't we stay there and camp in that grove?"

"Well, we might have, but we won't go back," answered Old Tilly. "Come on, let's make for that pretty little brown house. Maybe we can buy our supper there."

But the little brown house was shut up tight. The curtains were all pulled down, and a general air of "not at home" pervaded even the clapboards and the morning-glory vine over the door. Only the neat little barn looked hospitable. Its doors stood open wide. A distant rumble of thunder suddenly sounded, and the sky darkened with ominous swiftness.

"Going to rain," Kent said.

"Sure," added Jot. "Look at those clouds, will you? We'd better get into a hole somewhere."

"We'll go into the barn," decided Old Tilly, after a minute's thought, "and if it rains all night, we'll stay there. We can't do any harm."

It rained all night. Shower after shower burst over them heavily, and there was a continual boom of thunder in their ears. A slight respite at midnight was followed by the most terrific shower of all. The boys huddled together in the hay, with awe-struck faces, but unafraid. They could not sleep in such a magnificent tumult of nature.

Suddenly there was a blinding flash of lightning, then a crash. The whole universe seemed tottering about them. Dizzy and stunned, they gazed at each other, unable to move for an instant. Then it was Jot who sprang up in tremulous haste.

"I smell smoke--we're afire!" he exclaimed.

"Yes," Old Tilly cried, striving to be calm, "it struck this barn."

CHAPTER VII.

They darted away in search of the fire. The glare of the lightning showed them their way, and presently they came into the glare of the flames. The bolt had descended through the harness room.

"Quick! Cattle first!" shouted Old Tilly, clearly. "We must save the cattle, anyway!"

"You go to them, you two--I'm going to the pump," called back Kent, decisively. He remembered there was a pump just outside the barn, and he was sure he had seen two or three pails standing about near it--yes, there they were! He caught them up with a sweep as he leaped by. It was the work of a moment to fill two pails and a moment more to dash them down by the floor in one corner where the scattered hay was burning.

Again and again he made flying leaps to the pump and back.

Meanwhile the other two boys were releasing the frantic cattle. It was no simple thing to do--the poor creatures were so terrified. There were two steers and a gentle-faced heifer. The boys had made acquaintance with them the night before, and the poor things greeted them now with piteous lows of appeal.

"So, boss--so boss--so-o!" soothed Jot at the heifer's head. His trembling fingers caressed the smooth, fawn-colored nose, as, with the other hand, he untied her. She crouched back at first and refused to pa.s.s that terrible flaming something on the way to safety outside. But Jot pulled her along, talking to her all the way.

In less time than it takes to tell of it, the cattle were out of danger.

"Now the hens--hurry, hurry, Jot! I'm going to help Kent. It mustn't get to the hay upstairs!"

Thanks to Kent's steady, tireless work, there was little danger of that now. Already the flames were greatly subdued, and only sputtered aimlessly under the regular showers of water that fell upon them. The two boys toiled over them patiently till just a blackened corner told that they had been there in the trig little barn.

It had been a short, sharp battle. A moment's indecision, a very little less determined effort and presence of mind, and nothing but a miracle could have saved the barn. And then the house! It stood so near--what could have saved it?

It was an hour or more before Old Tilly would allow the live stock brought back into the barn. They hovered anxiously over the blackened embers, for fear they might spring into life again. But at last there seemed no danger, and presently the building settled back to quiet again, and the tired rescuers tried to s.n.a.t.c.h a little sleep in the hay.

Jot woke the others in the first dim daylight.

"Fire! Fire!" he screamed.