stooped almost double, and with his left arm bent before his face, and
his right extended to feel his way, he ran towards the fire, and
disappeared in the blinding smoke.

Even Mrs. Nevins was silenced for a moment of shuddering suspense; and
when she tossed her arms into the air again, and shrieked, it was because
John Ward came towards her with Charley trotting at his side.

"You should have looked after the child," the preacher said sternly. "I
found him on the other side of the yard, near the fire-engine."

Mrs. Nevins caught the boy in her arms in a paroxysm of rage and joy; and
then she thought of Tom.

"Oh, preacher," she cried, "preacher! he's run in after him, Tom Davis
has!"

"_There?_" John said, pointing to the fire. "God help him!"

There was no human help possible. Tom had run down between two long piles
of boards, not yet in flames, but already a sheet of fire swept madly
across the open space. They could only look at each other, dumb with
their own helplessness, and wait. How long this horror of expectation
lasted no one knew, but at last, as if from the very mouth of hell, Tom
Davis came, staggering and swaying,--his singed coat still rolled about
his head, and his hands stretched blindly out.

John Ward ran towards him, and even the cripple pressed forward to take
his hand. But with unseeing eyes he stood a moment, and then fell forward
on his face. They lifted him, and carried him back into the street, away