The noise of axes
beating down the burning fences drowned all other sounds. At this
moment Tom was standing on a cart, passing up the buckets to Carl.
Cully had crawled to the ridge-pole of the tool-house to watch
both sides of the threatened roof.
The little cripple made his way slowly into the crowd nearest the
sheltered side of the tool-house, pulling at the men's coats,
pleading with them to save his goat, his Stumpy.
On this side was a door opening into a room where the chains were
kept. From it rose a short flight of six or seven steps leading
to the loft. This loft had two big doors--one closed, nearest the
fire, and the other wide open, fronting the house. When the roof
of the burning stable fell, the wisps of straw in the cracks of
the closed door burst into flame.
Within three feet of this blazing mass, shivering with fear,
tugging at his rope, his eyes bursting from his head, stood
Stumpy, his piteous bleatings unheard in the surrounding roar. A
child's head appeared above the floor, followed by a cry of joy as
the boy flung himself upon the straining rope. The next instant a
half-frenzied goat sprang through the open door and landed in the
yard below in the midst of the startled men and women.
Tom was on the cart when she saw this streak of light flash out of
the darkness of the loft door and disappear.
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