here is it? Is it near here?"

We all sniffed for smoke and strained our eyes for a red fire glare
on the horizon, but we could neither smell nor see anything unusual.

Pretty soon we heard the fire-engine coming, and Amelia Powers cried
out: "Oh, it's going to Mrs. Liscom's! It's her house! It's Mrs.
Liscom's house!"

Candace Powers put her head farther out of the window, and screamed
in a queer voice that echoed like a parrot's, "Oh, 'Melia! 'Melia!
it's Mrs. Liscom's, it's Mrs. Liscom's, and the wind's this way!
Come, quick, and help me get out the best feather bed, and the
counterpane that mother knit! Quick! Quick!"

Amelia had to run in and quiet Candace, who was very apt to have a
bad spell when she was over-excited, and the rest of us started for
the fire.

As we hurried down the street I asked Mrs. Jones how she had known
there was a fire in the first place, for I supposed that was why she
had run out to her front door and looked down the street. Then I
learned about the city boarders. She and Amelia, from the way they
faced at their sitting-room windows, had seen the Grover stage-coach
stop at Mrs. Liscom's, and had run out to see the boarders alight.
Mrs. Jones said there were five of them--the mother, grandmother,
two daughters, and a son.

I said that I did not know Mrs. Liscom was going to take boarders;
I was very much surprised.

"I suppose she thought she would earn some money and have some extra
things," said Mrs. Jones.

"It must have been that," said Mrs. Ketchum, panting--she was almost
out of breath--"for, of course, the Liscoms don't need the money."

I laughed and said I thought not. I felt a little pride about it,
because Mrs. Liscom was a second cousin of my husband, and he used
to think a great deal of her.

"They must own that nice place clear, if it ain't going to burn to
the ground, and have something in the bank besides," assented Mrs.
Peter Jones.

Ever so many people were running down the street with us, and the air
seemed full of that brazen clang of the fire-bell; still we could not
see any fire, nor even smell any smoke, until we got to the head of
the lane where the Liscom house stands a few rods from the main
street.

The lane was about choked up with the fire-engine, the hose-cart, the
fire department in their red shirts, and, I should think, half the
village. We climbed over the stone wall into Mrs. Liscom's oat-field;
it was hard work for Mrs. Ketchum, but Mrs. J