The water was cold, clear, and deep in many places.  What more tempting resort for a tired, thirsty and overheated lad can be imagined especially when he knows that it will be a piece of disobedience for him to go there?

“That’s the place,” he exclaimed, hastening his footsteps; “when we get there, we’ll have a chance to breathe.”

“Hurry up, then, Nick, for I can’t stand this much longer.”

CHAPTER XXXIV.

CALLING IN VAIN.

The distress of the brother and sister became greater every minute.  They walked hurriedly along the bank of the creek, their path through the gloom illuminated now and then by the flashes of fire which shot through the strangling volumes of vapor.  Nick, more than likely, would have gone astray but for his familiarity with the neighborhood.

It seemed to him as if the smoke, heavy, dense, sulphurous and suffocating, caused by the burning forest, was driven toward the bed of the stream, where it was pressed down by the weight from above, until it was the utmost he and Nellie could do to inhale enough of the contaminated air to sustain life.

They hurried and struggled forward as best they could, and at last caught the glimmer of the broad expanse of water, which presented itself in the light of a haven of refuge to them.

It was a most welcome relief indeed, for they were now assured of one thing—­they could not die the frightful death that overtook the poor mare.  This broad expanse of cool, refreshing water could not burn up, no matter how fervent the heat that might envelop its shores.  Its cool depths offered a refreshing refuge, such as can hardly be understood by one who is not suffering similarly.

But it was rather curious that the boy and girl had endured more from the suffocating vapor than from the fire itself.  Looking down at their garments, they were surprised to find them scorched in several places, and Nellie gave just the faintest scream when a pungent odor directed her gaze to a large hole burning in her dress.

Nick glanced around, and, understanding what the matter was, called rather sharply: 

“Pinch it out!”

She was already doing so, and she asked: 

“Why don’t you pinch out that fire on your coat?”

Just then her brother jumped into the air and shouted, “Oh—­ouch!” for the burning sleeve had gone through the shirt and reached the bare skin.  He whipped off his coat in a twinkling, dipped it hastily into the water, doing the same with his right elbow, the element which extinguished the smoking garment being very grateful to the scorched limb.

“Nellie,” said he, “just cast your eye over me, and let me know whether there are any more fires going.”

He made up his mind that if she reported other conflagrations breaking out, he would subdue them in a lump by taking a header in the pond, whose shore they reached at that moment.  But Nellie said he was in no danger so far as she could see, of immediate combustion and when she came to examine her own garments they were also free from the same peril.