iberation from this "durance vile," Walter Cunningham had set out for
Paris, where he was to remain as long as suited his convenience.

May had just returned home, and having learned this little piece of
news, which she very properly deemed not at all complimentary to
herself, was in as vexable a mood as her amiability ever allowed. Her
cousin Hal suddenly entered the room in a rather boisterous manner, with
the exclamation:

"Hurrah! May, I am going to be a fireman!"

"So I should suspect," returned May, a little pettishly.

"Suspect?" said Hal, sobering down in a moment.

May laughed.

"Why will you join such a set of rowdies, Hal? I should think it quite
beneath me!"

"Rowdies! Those loafers who hang about the companies, attracted by the
excitement and the noise, do not belong to the department."

"You know the old adage, Hal,--'People are known by the company they
keep,' that is, 'birds of a feather flock together.'"

"Why, May, this is too bad! They are the noblest fellows in the world."

"Noble! I have lived too long in Philadelphia not to know something
about firemen. They used to frighten me almost out of my senses. Once we
thought they would set fire to the whole city, murder the people and
drink their blood! O, such a savage set you never saw!"

Hal laughed outright.

"Shoot the men, strangle the women, and swallow the children alive!" he
echoed, mockingly.

"It is no subject for jesting, Mr. Hal Delancey. Philadelphia is not the
only place. Take up the papers any morning, and what will you find under
the Williamsburgh head? Accounts of riots, street-battles, and
plunderings, in all of which the firemen have had a conspicuous part,
and New York is not much better."

"Well, May, you do make out the firemen to be a miserable set, most
assuredly. Now, if I had not already committed myself," continued Hal,
jestingly, "almost you would persuade me to denounce this gang of
rowdies, murderers and robbers; but the Rubicon is passed!"

"I do detest a fireman above all men!" ejaculated May, emphatically, as
Hal left the house to go down town and procure his equipment. Little did
either of them dream what was to be the scene of his first fire.

May's too sound slumbers were disturbed about twelve o'clock that night
by a confused rush of sounds, cries, shrieks, crackling beams and
falling timbers. She wrapped her dressing-gown around her, and rushed to
the door. Unclasping the bolts, she threw it open,