Part of the way lay through a wood, in the midst of which stood a hut
occupied by a family by the name of Smith, belonging to the class known as
"poor whites"; shiftless, lazy, and consequently very poor indeed, they
were. Many efforts had been put forth in their behalf, by the families of
the Oaks and Ion, and by others also, but thus far with small results, for
it is no easy matter to effectually help those who will not try to help
themselves.
As Eddie entered the wood, he thought he smelt smoke, and presently a
sudden turn in the road brought into view the dwelling of the Smiths all
wrapped in flames.
Putting spurs to his horse, at the sight, Eddie flew along the road
shouting at the top of his lungs, "Fire! fire! fire!" Jim, his attendant,
following his example.
But there was no one within hearing, save the Smiths themselves.
The head of the family, half stupefied with rum, stood leaning against the
fence, his hands in the pockets of his ragged coat, a pipe in his mouth,
gazing in a dazed sort of way upon the work of destruction; while the wife
and children ran hither and thither, screaming and wringing their hands
with never a thought of an attempt to extinguish the flames or save any of
their few poor possessions.
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