A falling beam had grazed his head and struck him a heavy blow upon the shoulder.
With a cry Jim sprang forward, dragged his young master out of reach of the flying sparks, the overpowering heat, and suffocating smoke, and dropping, blubbering, down by his side, tried to loosen his cravat.
"Fetch some wattah!" he called, "quick dar, you ongrateful white trash! you gwine let young Marse Eddie die, when he done gone saved yo' baby from burnin' up ?" "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.