"I notice, Somers," said Dr. Tilton, "that you did not have good luck in finding a fire that last alarm, but if one is sounded now, I guess it will amount to something. Fearful dry, it is getting to be."

The doctor was a true prophet. The next alarm did amount to something. One morning about half past seven, there echoed in the narrow streets of Seamont a cry that plain meant bad news. Will Somers heard, and might be said to have _seen_, that cry. He had taken down the shutters of his employer's store, and was hanging in the windows two very gaudily lettered placards, "A balm for all, Jenkins's Soporific," "The need of an aching world, Muggins's Liniment." Will heard that magic cry, "Fire--re--re!" He turned and saw a man coming down the street. He was not only coming, but running, his hat off, and his mouth open wide enough to take in a ten-cent loaf of brown bread, Will thought.

"Woolen mill on fire!"

"Woolen mill!" gasped Will, and his first thought was, "glory enough for one day."

The woolen mill was in a pretty little hollow, a nest whose walls were spreading elm-trees. The mill was a relic of the old industries of the place and represented a vain effort to make Seamont a "manufacturing center."

"Then the fire is down in the hollow," thought Will. He saw somebody approaching who he thought might be a customer, but he quickly decided the question whether he owed a greater duty to one person or to many--the public--by turning the key in the lock of the door. Then he hurried away.

As he rushed to the house of the "Cataract," he stopped at the door of Dr.

Tilton's home.

"There," he said to Biddy Flannigan, who answered, "tell the doctor there's a tremendous alarm in town, and I thought he might want me to go, as he is an owner, and here is the key."

"What?" said Biddy.

"Woolen mill's afire, tell him."

"Woolen Mill Sophia! Who is she?" wondered Biddy, and she went to report to the doctor.

"Faith, sir, yer clerk says there is a tremenjus 'larm in town and it's about Woolen Mill Sophia, and here is the key, sir."

"Woolen-mill what?" asked the doctor. "I am an owner up there."

"Indade! It must be that Sophia works up there."

"Sophia?" the doctor asked, and then stared at her and exclaimed, "It is 'woolen mill's afire!' My! Where are my boots? Quick! Bertha, bring down my boots, please."

This last request was shouted up stairs to his niece, Bertha Barry, who was making a brief visit at the doctor's. Bertha quickly appeared, boots in hand, her blue eyes looking bright and fresh as the spring violets just gathered from the fields.

"Bertha, it's the old mill that is afire. Will Somers has left the key of the store here and gone to the fire. I can forgive him this morning, though I did think his duties as a fireman began to interfere with his duties as an apothecary. Let me see! I'm all ready, I believe--guess I must go up to the fire. Tell your aunt I have gone to the fire and I'll be back--when I arrive."

Off went the doctor. Bertha delivered the message to her aunt and went down stairs. Then she looked out of the window and watched the people on their way to the fire.

"Guess I'll go to the fire, too," said Bertha, "if aunt is willing."

"Och," said Biddy, as she watched the departing Bertha, "we'll all be fur goin' up to see Sophia. The saints defind us!"

The fire had started in the waste room of the old mill. Somebody had once insisted on isolating this quarter as much as possible, and brick part.i.tions had been put up that happily interfered with the spread of the fire and allowed all the operatives a chance to escape. The fire finally reached an elevator. It then darted with startling rapidity to the top of the building, shooting up like an arrow sent by a destructive hand below.

The flames were now spreading every-where in the highest story. People gathered from the town, and the engines soon were working.

"Get every body out of the building!" said a commanding voice, owned by a man who had just arrived.

"Of course! That's what we have just been doing," said a second.

The cry now arose, "Two boys in the mill!"

Some one said that the boys had made their escape with the other operatives, but had gone back into one of the lower stories after their overcoats.

"Boys in the mill!" rang out the fearful cry.

The owner of the commanding voice rushed forward into the lower entry of the mill, swinging an ax. Will Somers found him at the door trying to cut round the latch.

"What's that for?" asked Will.

"Want to get 'em out, you fool!"

"Have you tried the door?"

"N--n--o."

Will seized it, pulled it, and open it came!

Will was brave, and, in such an emergency as the present, generally took his wits with him. The room was full of smoke. He stepped in and shouted, but there was no response. While at the door of the first room, he heard some one behind saying, "Boys in the next story, they say." Will turned and sprang up stairs. Just ahead was the person who had recently spoken.

The proprietor of the commanding voice was now retreating, his ax over his shoulder, stepping proudly out in the consciousness that he had done a memorable thing. Up the stairs went Will and his companion, the smoke thickening about them. Reaching the second floor and pushing open the door of the adjoining room, they saw--was it a boy on the floor? He had evidently striven to gain the door, but when he had almost reached it, had succ.u.mbed to the suffocating smoke, falling with arms stretched out toward the goal he desired to secure. And who was it running toward them, boy or man, the smoke parting about him as he advanced, then closing up again? It was a boy rushing for the door, trying to make his way through the smoke which, light as it was, proved too heavy a burden for him, for down he dropped, felling flat upon his face. It was the work of a moment apparently to seize the boys and carry them out into the entry.

"Thank G.o.d for strong arms!" said Will Somers, lifting one boy and starting off with him.

"Yes, thank Him for every thing good," answered his companion, shouldering the other prize. They descended the stairs. How the smoke had increased!

They had been absent longer than they thought, and in that time the fire was rapidly advancing toward them. They heard a loud noise without, a shout rising above the crackle and roar of the flames. Then voices were heard at the foot of the stairs: "Come this way! Quick! Hurry!" As Will pa.s.sed through the lower entry, he chanced to glance into the room whose door had been left open by the knight of the ax. A draft had been created, and Will could see that the flames were springing toward the outer air.

"This way! Hurry!" people were shouting, and through the almost blinding, bewildering, suffocating smoke, Will and his companion bore the trophies they had s.n.a.t.c.hed from the flames.

"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" went up heartily from the dense, black crowd below. The rescued boys were laid upon the gra.s.s at a safe distance from the burning mill. The people began to gather about them.

"Ah, poor Tim, poor Tim!" said a woman, bending over one of the boys.

"That's Ann there with Tim Tyler," said Charlie to Sid Waters, these two enterprising knights having made good use of their legs and quickly reached the spot.

"Who's Ann?"

"It is Tim's mother."

"I recognize the other boy. It's Bob Landers."

"Will Somers, this you?" asked Charlie.

"It will be when my face is washed. Dirty work at fires."

"Why, Mr. Walton, is this you? What a 'ero! Did you save one of them boys?" squeaked Miss Persnips to Will's companion.

The minister's face was not very clean after his fight with the sooty enemy, but as Will thought, "Love sees through all disguises."

"Yes, here I am, and if some of you good people will carry these boys home, the rest of us will soak down those tenement houses opposite the mill and see if we can't save them."

"The dear man! So disinterested, and before he had got his face washed,"

said Miss Persnips, pressing nearer to gain a better look at the object of her admiration.