Andy the Acrobat | Page 7

threatened from the stubble.
Creeping into this from the base of the haystack in flames, little
pathways of fire darted out like vicious serpents.
Andy made for these with the rake. He beat at them and scraped the
ground. He stamped with his stockinged feet and pulled up clumps of

stubble with his hands.
The trouble was that so many little fires started up at so many different
spots. Finally, however, the ground was a mass of burned-out grass for
twenty feet clear around the centre of the blaze.
The haystack was sinking down a glowing mass, but now confined
itself and past spreading out.
Andy flung himself on the ground fairly exhausted. His hands and face
were somewhat blistered, and he was wringing wet with perspiration.
He looked pretty serious as he did "a sum out of school."
"That stack held about two tons and a-half," he calculated. "I heard a
farmer at the post-office say yesterday that he was getting eight dollars
in the stack for hay. There's twenty dollars gone up in smoke. Where
will I ever get twenty dollars?"
Andy became more and more despondent the longer he thought of the
dismal situation.
He stirred himself to action. With the rake he heaped together the brittle
filaments of burned hay.
"It can't spread any now," he decided finally. "It's dying down to
nothing. Now then, what's next?"
Andy took a far look in all directions. The fire had burned so rapidly
and clear in the crisp light air that it did not seem to have been
observed in the village.
Andy wondered, however, that some of the Dales had not discovered it.
He stood gazing thoughtfully at the Dale homestead about a
quarter-of-a-mile away.
A great many impulsive, disheartening and also reckless projects ran
through his mind.

"It's an awful fix to be in," ruminated Andy with a sigh of real distress.
"If ever it was up to a fellow to cut stick and run, it's up to Andy
Wildwood at this minute. Expelled from school, burning up a man's
haystack and then--Aunt Lavinia! The rest is bad enough, but when I
think of her it sends the cold chills all over me. Ugh!"
Andy looked for Dobbin. It was some time before he discovered the
innocent partner of his recent disastrous escapade.
The old horse was half-a-mile distant, placidly making along the
roadway for home.
Andy rubbed his head in distress and uncertainty. He had a hard
problem to figure out. Suddenly his eyes snapped and he straightened
up briskly.
"I won't crawl," he declared. "'Toe the mark' is Aunt Lavinia's great
motto. 'Face the music' is mine. I won't turn tail and play the sneak. I've
destroyed some property. Well, the first honest thing to do is to try and
make good. Here goes."
Andy started for the road. He reached the spot where he had left his
coat and shoes. Donning these he went to a little pool in the brush,
washed his face and hands, and made a short cut for Farmer Dale's
house.
Andy's heart was beating pretty fast as he entered the farm yard, but he
marched straight up to the front door.
Andy knocked, first timidly, then louder.
There was no response.

CHAPTER IV
A BUSINESS PROPOSITION

"Nobody at home," said Andy to himself.
He walked around the house to find all the windows closed and locked.
"That's the reason no one came to the fire," he resumed. "There's
somebody, though."
Andy started in the direction of the barn. He had caught the sound of
some one chopping or hammering there.
He came upon a hired hand splitting some sawed hickory slabs to
whittle down into skewers.
"Mr. Dale's folks all away?" inquired Andy.
"Reckon they are, youngster," answered the man.
"Will they be gone long, do you think?"
"Mr. Dale won't. He drove the family over to Centreville. The circus is
there, you know."
"Yes," said Andy--longingly.
"Took them early, so they could look around town. They're going to
stay all night with some relations, Mr. Dale isn't, though. He ought to
be back by this time. He's due now. Was talking of carting a couple of
loads of hay over to Gregson's this morning."
Andy's heart sank at this. He did not tell the man about the fire.
Backing away gloomily, he went out into the road again.
Every point in the landscape suggested some section of his morning's
misfortunes. Andy craned his neck as he took in a distant view of the
old school-house.
He made out a female figure approaching it. Andy recognized the green
bombazine dress of Miss Lavinia Talcott. She carried a baggy umbrella
in her hand. Andy from experience knew that its possession by the old

maid was generally a sign that she was on