It was a hot day at Burnham Breaker. The sun of midsummer beat fiercely upon the long and sloping roofs and against the coal-black sides of the giant building.

Down in the engine-room, where there was no air stirring, and the vapor of steam hung heavily in the atmosphere, the heat was almost insupportable.

The engineer, clothed lightly as he was, fairly dripped with perspiration. The fireman, with face and neck like a lobster, went out, at intervals, and plunged his hands and his head too into the stream of cool water sent out from the mine by the laboring pumps.

Up in the screen-room, the boys were sweltering above their chutes, choking with the thick dust, wondering if the afternoon would never be at an end.

Bachelor Billy, pushing the cars out from the head, said to himself that he was glad Ralph was no longer picking slate. It was better that he should work in the mines. It was cool there in summer and warm in winter, and it was altogether more comfortable for the boy than it could be in the breaker; neither was it any more dangerous, in his opinion, than it was among the wheels and rollers of the screen-room.

He had labored in the mines himself, until the rheumatism came and put a stop to his under-ground toil. He mourned greatly the necessity that compelled him to give up this kind of work. It is hard for a miner to leave his pillars and his chambers, his drill and powder-can and fuse, and to seek other occupation on the surface of the earth. The very darkness and danger that surround him at his task hold him to it with an unaccountable fascination.

But Bachelor Billy had a good place here at the breaker. It was not hard work that he was doing. Robert Burnham had given him the position ten years and more ago.

Even on this hot mid-summer day, the heat was less where he was than in any other part of the building. A cool current came up the shaft and kept the air stirring about the head, and the loaded mine-cars rose to the platform, dripping cold water from their sides, and that was very refreshing to the eye as well as to the touch.

It was well along in the afternoon that Billy, looking out to the north-west, saw a dark cloud rising slowly above the horizon, and said to Andy Gilgallon, his a.s.sistant, that he hoped it would not go away without leaving some rain behind it.

Looking at it again, a few minutes later, he told Andy that he felt sure there would be water enough to lay the dust, at any rate.

The cloud increased rapidly in size, rolling up the sky in dark volumes, and emitting flashes of forked lightning in quick succession.

By and by the face of the sun was covered, and the deep rumbling of the thunder was almost continuous.

There was a dead calm. Not even at the head of the shaft could a particle of moving air be felt.

"Faith! I don't like the looks o' it, Billy," said Andy Gilgallon, as a sharp flash cut the cloud surface from zenith to horizon, and a burst of thunder followed that made the breaker tremble.

"No more do I," replied Bachelor Billy; "but we'll no' git scart afoor we're hurt. It's no' likely the buildin' 'll be was.h.i.t awa'."

"Thrue for ye! but this bit o' a steeple ud be a foine risting-place for the lightnin's fut, an' a moighty hot fut it has, too--bad 'cess to it!"

The man had been interrupted by another vivid flash and a sharp crack of thunder.

The mountains to the north and west were now entirely hidden, and the near hills were disappearing rapidly behind the on-coming storm of rain. Already the first drops were rattling sharply on the breaker's roof, and warning puffs of wind were beating gently against the side of the shaft-tower.

"I'm glad Ralph's no' workin' i' the screen-room," said Bachelor Billy, as he put up his hand to shield his eyes from the blinding glare. "It'd be a fearfu' thing to ha' the breaker hit."

The fury of the storm was on them at last. It was as though the heavens were shattered.

Billy looked out upon the dreadful onslaught of the elements with awe and wonder on his face. His companion crouched against the timbers of the shaft in terror.

Then--lightning struck the breaker.

People who sat in their houses a mile away started up in sudden fright at the fierce flash and terrible report.

A man who was running toward the engine-room for shelter was blinded and stunned by the glare and crash, and fell to his knees.

When he rose again and could use his eyes, he saw men and boys crowding from the building out into the pouring rain. But the breaker was on fire. Already the shaft-tower was wrapped in smoke and lighted with flame. Some one in authority stood in the door of the engine-room giving orders.

The carriage was descending the shaft. When it came up it was loaded with men. It went down again, almost with the rapidity of lightning itself.

The engineer was crowding his servant of iron and steel to the utmost.

The men of the next load that came up had hardly time to push each other from the carriage before it darted down again into the blackness.

The flames were creeping lower on the shaft timbers, and were rioting among the screens.

The engine-room was hot and stifling. The engineer said he was hoisting the last load that could be brought out.

When it reached the surface Conway leaped from among the men and stood in the door of the engine-room.

"Let it down again!" he shouted. "Ralph is below yet, the boy. I'll go down myself an' git 'im."

He heard a crash behind him, and he turned in time to see the iron roof of the carriage disappear into the mouth of the shaft.

The burning frame-work at the head had ceased to support it, and it had fallen down, dragging a ma.s.s of flaming timbers with it.

Conway went out into the rain and sat down and cried like a child.

Afterward, when the storm had partially subsided, a wagon was stopped at the door of the office near the burning breaker, the limp body of Bachelor Billy was brought out and placed in it, and it was driven rapidly away. They had found him lying on the track at the head with the flames creeping dangerously near. He was unconscious when they came to him, he was unconscious still. They took him to his room at Mrs. Maloney's cottage, and put him in his bed. The doctor came soon, and under his vigorous treatment the man lost that deathly pallor about his face, but he did not yet recover consciousness. The doctor said he would come out of it in time, and went away to see to the others who had been injured.

The men who had brought the invalid were gone, and Mrs. Maloney was sitting by him alone.

The storm had pa.s.sed, the sun had come out just long enough to bid a rea.s.suring "good-night" to the lately frightened dwellers on the earth, and was now dropping down behind the western hills.

A carriage stopped at Bachelor Billy's door and a moment later Mrs.

Burnham knocked and entered.

"I heard that he had suffered from the stroke," she said, looking at the still form on the bed, "and I came to see him. Is he better?"

"He ain't come out of it yet, ma'am," responded Mrs. Maloney, "but the doctor's been a-rubbin' of im' an' a-givin' 'im stimmylants, an'

he says it's all right he'll be in the course of a few hours. Will ye have a chair, ma'am?"

"Thank you. I'll sit here by him a while with the fan and relieve you.

Where is Ralph?"

"He's not come yet, ma'am."

"Why, Mrs. Maloney, are you sure? Is it possible that anything has happened to him?"

"To shpake the trut', ma'am, I'm a bit worried about 'im meself. But they said to me partic'ler, as how ivery man o' thim got out o' the mine befoor the carriage fell. Most like he's a-watchin' the fire an'

doesn't know his Uncle Billy's hurted. Ye'll see 'im comin' quick enough when he hears that, I'm thinkin'."

Mrs. Burnham had seated herself at the bedside with the fan in her hand.

"I'll wait for him," she said; "perhaps he'll be here soon."

"I'll be lookin' afther the supper, thin," said Mrs. Maloney, "the lad'll be hungry whin he comes," and she left the room.

Bachelor Billy lay very quiet, as if asleep, breathing regularly, his face somewhat pale and his lips blue, but he had not the appearance of one who is in danger.