sound but rather disturbed sleep. The men
gathered in the lunch-room, and discussed the cowardly attempt upon the
mill, the day's affairs generally.

"See how great a matter a little fire kindles," said Maverick. "But for
McPherson's lecture here, I don't believe any of these things would have
happened. It is a free country, of course, and a man has a right to air
his ideas; but capital is not set firmly enough on its legs to stand a
severe fire, and labor is in too great a superabundance. To seek to
drain the ocean with a silver mug may be grand, but quite hopeless."

One! The witching hour, and a few sleepy men began to yawn.

"How odd it seems, not to hear trains in the night!" Maverick said
presently. "A queer lock-out this."

One, again. One, two, three: this time the fire-alarm.

They rushed out toward the mill. Then they as suddenly wheeled around.
In an instant the air seemed full of shouts and cries, and a broad sheet
of flame flared up in the face of the tranquil heavens. A roar, like a
mighty tramping of hosts, a crackling, snapping, sweeping sound.

"It's Keppler's. Boyd's block will surely go!"

The houses were frame, old and dry: Keppler's on the corner, the rest
joined, like a row of sheds, and filled with the very poorest; a few
apartments standing empty. The engines were out, but it was of little
avail. The corner was just one brilliant sheet of lurid light. Shrieking
women and children fled for their lives. The street swarmed again, and
people trampled over one another in their wild terror. There was a
crash, and the building fell in. The flames licked up the other fiery
flood, and had a brave battle in the cellar. The engines played until
the air was filled with smothering smoke, and there was nothing left but
a long, blackened ruin.

"It may be ungenerous to rejoice in any man's misfortune," said
Maverick, "but in a sanitary point of view I am thankful those old
rookeries have come to an end. Boyd wouldn't do any thing to them, and
they were unfit for pigs to live in. And, as for Keppler's, there will
be but one verdict this end of the town."

Some one laid a hand on Jack Darcy's shoulder. He turned and saw Fred
Lawrence.

"They are all worried to death about you, old chap," began Fred. "Your
mother, Miss Morgan, Sylvie,--and Irene is walking the floor. I have not
seen her so excited since--since she had the fever. What a horrible
thing! Was any one lost, do you know?"

"They will not b