about noon
My brother was a dreamer , living , it sometimes seemed , in a world of his own creating . I now realize that my foster-father and I did not quite understand him . `` It was an intensely hot day . How the grass got on fire I do not know , but about noon I heard a cry from Dean , who had been lying for hours on the ground in the shade of the shack reading a book of poetry that a traveling missionary had brought to him . He had visited us six months before and had promised the next time he came that he would bring a book for my brother . `` When I heard Dean 's cry of alarm and saw him leap to his feet and run toward a swiftly approaching column of smoke , I also ran , but not being as fleet of foot , I was soon far behind him . He had caught up a burlap bag as he passed a shed ; then , on he raced toward the fire .