“Take the gourd and run to the spring Celestia Ann; quick, quick as you kin go,” said the mother hugging up her rescued child, and wiping a tear from her eye with the corner of a very dirty apron.

“There ain’t none,” answered the child, “we uns ain’t got nothin’ left; it’s all burnt up.”

But a keen, fresh air was already reviving our hero.

“Take me home, Jim,” he said faintly.  “Stop that wagon,” as one was heard rumbling down the road, still at some distance.

“Hollo dar! jes stop an’ take a passenger aboard!” shouted Jim, springing to his feet and rushing into the road, waving his cap above his head.

“Hollo!” shouted back the other, “dat you Jim Yates?  Burnin’ down Smith’s house.  Dat’s a plenepotentiary crime, dat is, sah!”

“Oh go ’long, you fool, Pete White!” retorted Jim, as the other drew rein close at his side, “you bet you don’t catch dis niggah a burnin’ no houses.  Spect ole Smith set de fire goin’ hisself wid dat ole pipe o’ his’n!”

“An’ it’s clar burnt down to de ground,” observed Pete, gazing with eager interest at the smouldering ruins.  “What you s’pose dey’s gwine to do for sheltah for dem po’ chillen?”

“Dat ain’t no concern ob mine,” returned Jim indifferently.  “Ise consarned ‘bout getting young Marse Ed’ard safe home, an’ don’t care nuffin’ for all de white trash in de country.  Jes hitch yo’ hoss an’ help me lift him into de wagon.”

“What’s de mattah?” queried Pete, leisurely dismounting and slowly hitching his horse to a tree.

“Oh you hurry up, you ole darky!” returned Jim impatiently.  “Mr. Ed’ard’s lyin’ dar in de cold; ’catch his diff if you’s gwine to be all night ’bout gittin’ to him.”

“Ise got de rheumatiz, chile; ole folks can’t turn roun’ like young uns,” returned Pete quickening his movements somewhat as he clambered over the fence and followed Jim to the spot where Eddie lay.

“Hurt, sah?” he asked.

“A little; I fear I can hardly sit my horse—­for this faintness,” Eddie answered, low and feebly.  “Can you put me into your wagon and drive me to Ion?”

“Yes, sah; wid de greatest pleasah in life, sah.  Mr. Travilla and de Ion ladies ben berry kind to me an’ my ole woman and de chillen.”

Mrs. Smith and her dirty ragged little troop had gathered round, still crying over their fright and their losses, curious too about the young gentleman who had saved the baby and was lying there on the ground so helpless.

“Are ye much hurt, Mr. Edward?” asked the woman.  “Oh yer mother’ll never forgive me fur lettin’ ye risk yer life that away!”

“I don’t think the injury is serious, Mrs. Smith, at least I hope not; and you were not to blame,” he answered, “so make yourself easy.  Now, Pete and Jim, give me an arm, each of you.”

They helped him into the wagon and laid him down, putting the scorched horse blanket under his head for a pillow.