The men finally fell back in a panting circle and watched it burn.
"Gee!" ejaculated Peter, "I'm glad it was the waggon-shed. It might have been the stables."
"Or the house," added Mrs. Carter.
"Or Augustus!" breathed Mrs. Brainard.
The roof fell in with a crash, and the flames leaped up to surround it. A mild cheer broke from the spectators; since there was nothing more to be done, they might as well enjoy the bonfire. The cheer was echoed by an answering shout at the end of the avenue, and a moment later the Sea Garth volunteer hook and ladder company dashed into sight, drawn by two foam-covered horses, the firemen still struggling into belated uniforms.
They came to a stand; half a dozen men tore off the nearest ladder and dragged it to the burning building. There, they hesitated dubiously. It was clearly an impossible feat to lean a thirty-foot ladder against a one-story waggon-shed whose roof had fallen in.
