“That was simply magnificent, Prescott!” said the sub-master enthusiastically.  “But I honestly believed that it would be your last good deed.”

While the sub-master spoke he was running both hands up and down over the high school boy’s clothing, putting out many glowing sparks that had found lodgment in the cloth.

“It was easy,” smiled Dick.  “Thank goodness I saw the trouble in time!”

“There are others who are thankful that you saw it in time,” uttered John Luce, as he looked toward the parents, now coming up as fast as they could, each with a child clasped in arms.

From the road went up a loud cheer.  The trolley car had been halted and backed down to the scene.  Though there were few people on the car, they made up amply in enthusiasm for their lack of numbers.

As for the farmer and his wife, though they tried to thank Dick and Mr. Luce, they were too completely overcome with emotion to express themselves intelligibly.

The wagon that had held the hay was now blazing fiercely.  As for the hay, that had already burned to a fine powder.

“How—–­how did you ever get here in time?” cried the rejoicing mother brokenly.

It was the conductor of the trolley car, just reaching the spot, who told how Dick Prescott and Mr. Luce had leaped from the moving car.  The sub-master described Dick’s feat in climbing the apple tree and leaping from the limb of the tree to the top of the loaded hay wagon.

“It was a nervy thing for any man to do!” choked the farmer, tears of joy running down his cheeks.

“It was just like Dick Prescott,” replied John Luce simply.

As soon as possible Dick and the sub-master made their escape from the earnest protestations of gratitude of the farmer and his wife, though they did not go until Mr. Luce had persuaded the parents not to whip the mischievous match-burner, but to content themselves with pointing out to the little rascal the dreadful possibilities of such pranks.

At last, however, Dick and Mr. Luce returned to the car followed by the other passengers.  The conductor gave the go-ahead signal, and the motor-man started in to try to make up some of the time lost from his schedule.

Dick, as soon as he reached Gridley, went up to Greg Holmes’ house, where he knew his chums would be waiting to learn the result of his Tottenville trip.

That evening Sub-master Luce chanced to take a stroll up Main Street.  As the offices of the “Morning Blade” were lighted up, Mr. Luce stepped inside, seeking Editor Pollock in the editorial room.

“Is Prescott about?” asked Mr. Luce, for Dick, as our readers know, earned many a dollar as a “space-writer”; that is, he was paid so much a column for furnishing and writing up local news.

“Dick went out about ten minutes ago,” replied Mr. Pollock.

“Was he here long?”

“About fifteen minutes.”