The straw-stack was blazing fiercely, lighting the sky with a red glare, when in the distance they heard the beat of a drum.  Gran’ther Wattles had seen the flames and was rousing the village.  Then there were hoof-beats on the road, and into the fire-light dashed Penny with the terrified Goodman and his wife on her back.  Once they knew their children were safe, they did not stop for questions, but at once set to work to help them check the fire, which was now spreading among the dry leaves.  The Goodwife ran for her broom, which she dipped in water and then beat upon the little flames as they appeared here and there in the grass.  The Goodman mounted to the roof at once, and, with Dan to fetch water and Nancy to bring up buckets from the well, they managed to keep it too wet for the flying sparks to set it afire.  At last the neighbors, roused by Gran’ther Wattles’s frantic alarm, came hurrying across the pastures; but the distance was so great that the flames had died down and the danger was nearly over before they arrived.

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There was now time for explanations, and, surrounded by an eager and grim-visaged circle, Nancy and Dan told their story.  “There ’s a brave lad for you!” cried Stephen Day, when the tale was finished, patting Dan on the shoulder.  “Aye, and a brave lass, too,” added another.  Their father and mother said no words of praise, but there was a glow of pride in their faces as they looked at their children and silently thanked God for their safety.

“We can do nothing to-night,” said Goodman Pepperell at last, “but, neighbors, if you are with me, to-morrow we will go into the woods and see if we can find any trace of the black boy.  Doubtless by stealing him and burning the house they thought to revenge themselves for the Indian whom I wounded on my way home from Plymouth.  They must have been watching the house, and, seeing us depart this morning, knew well that they had naught but children to deal with.”

“Aye, but such children!” said Stephen Day, who had been greatly impressed by the story of the jack-o’-lantern.  “We ’ll follow them, indeed, and if we find them”—­his jaw shut with a snap and he said no more.

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While the men laid their plans for the morrow, the children and their mother stole round to the front of the house, and Dan began a search for Nimrod.  He had been neither seen nor heard since the Indian had given him that fearful blow and thrown him out.  They found him lying a few feet from the house still half stunned, and Dan lifted him tenderly in his arms, brought him into the house, and laid him down before the fire, where he had slept so peacefully only one short hour before.  Nimrod licked his hand, and rapped his tail feebly on the hearthstone.  Nancy wept over him, while Dan bathed his wounded head, and tried to find out if any bones were broken.

“Poor Nimrod,” said the Goodwife, as she set a bowl of milk before the wounded dog, “thou art a brave soldier.  Drink this and soon thou wilt be wagging thy tail as briskly as ever.”