He bounded into a field where a loaded hay wagon stood near an apple tree.
The horses had been led away to be fed.

Seated on the top of the hay were a boy of barely six and a girl not more than four years old.

They were awaiting the return of the farmer.
Down below a six-year-old boy, barefooted and brown as a gipsy, had appeared on the scene during the farmer's absence.
"For fun" this youngster had been lighting match after match, making believe to set the hay afire.

As he held the matches as close to the dried hay as he dared, this urchin on the ground called to the two babies above that he would "burn 'em up." Not all of this did Dick Prescott know, but his glance through the car window had shown him the boy on the ground just as that tiny fellow had lighted another match, shouting tantalizingly to the two children on top of the load of hay.
Just as he called up to them the mischievous youngster tripped slightly.

Throwing out his right hand to save himself the boy accidentally touched the bottom of the load at one side with the lighted match.
At this fateful instant it was out of the question to think of putting out the flame that leaped from wisp to wisp of the dried grass.
"Jump!" shouted the young match-burner, but the children above did not hear, or else did not realize their plight.
"Fire! Fire!" screamed the little incendiary, as he ran panic-stricken toward the farm house.
And now Dick was racing as he had never done before, even over the football gridiron.