"What's in that cow-house?" gasped Mr. Pendyce.
Mrs. Peacock, in a voice harsh with rage and grief answered:
"It's the old horse and two of the cows!"
"God bless me!" cried the Squire, rushing forward with his bucket.
Some villagers came running up, and he shouted to these, but what he
said neither he nor they could tell. The shrieks and snortings of the
horse and cows, the steady whirr of the flames, drowned all lesser
sounds. Of human cries, the Rector's voice alone was heard, between the
crashing blows of his axe upon the woodwork.
Mr. Pendyce tripped; his bucket rolled out of his hand; he lay where he
had fallen, too exhausted to move. He could still hear the crash of
the Rector's axe, the sound of his shouts. Somebody helped him up, and
trembling so that he could hardly stand, he caught an axe out of the
hand of a strapping young fellow who had just arrived, and placing
himself by the Rector's side, swung it feebly against the boarding.
The flames and smoke now filled the whole cow-house, and came rushing
through the gap that they were making. The Squire and the Rector stood
their ground. With a furious blow Mr. Barter cleared a way. A cheer rose
behind them, but no beast came forth. All three were dead in the smoke
and flames.
The Squire, who could see in, flung down his axe, and covered his eyes
with his hands.
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