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
partitions 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.