Instead of silence, a roar as of a hurricane was in his ears. Never in
his life had he seen a great fire, but instantly he understood.
Instantly the instinctive animal terror of fire gripped him; he
retreated to the very depths of the kennel, and burying his small head
in his arms lay still. But not even then, child though he was, did he
utter a cry. The endurance which had made Jennie Blair stare death
impassively in the face was part and parcel of his nature.

For the space of perhaps a minute Ben lay motionless. Louder than before
came to his ears the roar of the fire. Occasionally a hot tongue of
flame intruded mockingly into the mouth of his retreat. The confined air
about him grew close, narcotic. He expected to die, and with the
premonition of death an abnormal activity came to the child-brain.
Whatever knowledge he possessed of death was connected with his mother.
It was she who had given him his vague impression of another life. She
herself, as she lay silent and unresponsive, had been the first concrete
example of it. Inevitably thought of her came to him now,--practical,
material thought, crowding from his brain the blind terror that had been
its predecessor. Where was his mother now? He pictured again the furnace
into which he had gazed from the mouth of the kennel. Though perhaps she
would not feel it, she would be burned--burned to a crisp--destroyed
like the fuel he had tossed into the makeshift stove! Instinctively he
felt the sacrilege, and the desire to do something to prevent it.
Something--yes, but what? He was himself helpless; he must seek outside
aid--but where? Suddenly there occurred to the child-mind a suggestion
applicable to his difficulty, an adequate solution, for it involved
everything he had learned to trust in life. He remembered a Being more
powerful than man, more powerful than fire or cold,--a Being whom his
mother had called God. Believing in Him, it was necessary only to ask
for whatever one wished. For himself, even to save his life, he would