“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.