my did he look. Her little
start at seeing him was noted by Smith, and he guessed the reason for
it.

"Don't be alarmed," he said, with a shadow of his old smile. "Under
all the disguises it's really I. I know that I must look like a
dissipated coal heaver, but I flatter myself that you'll be glad to see
me, just the same, for I came to tell you that the danger is over--the
fire is practically out."

"Then you must come in and let me get you something to eat," said the
girl.

"Thank you very much, but I don't think I will. Somehow I don't seem
to feel very hungry. But I'm horribly sleepy. I don't believe I was
ever so sleepy in my life. So good-night."

But she stood with her back to the door.

"Where did you intend to go?" she demanded. "The hotels that are not
burned are probably filled to the brim. Besides, your clothes are
here. You can't go away. You must stay here."

"That's awfully kind of you, to offer to take me in," the other
rejoined; "but you cannot house a disreputable chimney sweep.
Besides--"

But she did not give him any opportunity to complete the sentence.

"Don't be absurd; you're usually quite sensible. Mother and I had it
all decided hours ago. You're to stay with us. Your room is all ready
for you--and your bath," she added.

He acknowledged the touch with an appreciative but weary smile.

"Well, then, if you really don't mind, I'll take you up," he said.

"Will you have supper first?"

"Thanks, no--nothing but sleep. I'm ashamed of being so fearfully
tired--you must excuse me. But I don't believe any man can stay awake
indefinitely."

"No, I don't believe any man can," Helen agreed.

It was ten o'clock the next day when Smith opened his eyes once more
upon a normal world. The sun was shining brightly, but it was some
moments before he could assure himself that he was actually awake
again. The twelve hours' sleep, during which apparently not one muscle
had he stirred, had gone far to repair the ravages of thirty-six hours'
steady wakefulness, and a cold bath did the rest. The two ladies were
found to be in the dining room, still absorbed in the morning edition
of a newspaper whose building had escaped the sweep of the
conflagration.

"Why, it's only half-past ten!" was Helen's greeting. "I didn't expect
you so early. Mother suggested that we wait breakfast for you; but I
said it would be much closer your wishes if we waited lunch instead."

"Well, I think